The blue house stood apart from its neighbors, its weathered clapboards the color of a winter sky. An unkempt garden sprawled across the front yard, wild roses climbing the trellis in desperate tangles. As Dante approached the wrought-iron gate, he noted the drawn curtains and general air of neglect that hung about the property.

He rapped the brass knocker against the door, the sound echoing hollowly through the house. After a long moment, he heard shuffling footsteps approaching.

The door creaked open to reveal a woman in her early thirties, her honey-blonde hair escaping from a loose bun. Despite her obvious pregnancy, she carried herself with quiet dignity. Her gray eyes widened slightly at the sight of Dante, and for a moment, her hand tightened on the doorframe as if steadying herself. Dark circles under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights.

"Miss Adelaide?" Dante inquired, inclining his head politely. "I apologize for the intrusion, but I'm looking for your brother, Dr. Elias Thornbury."

Adelaide's hand instinctively moved to rest on her swollen belly. "I'm afraid you've had a wasted journey. Elias hasn't been home in weeks." She paused, looking at him, as if inspecting him. "Are you a patient of his?"

"An old friend from his medical school days," Dante replied smoothly. 

"From Edinburgh?" she asked, studying his face with keen intelligence.

Dante smiled warmly, letting just the right amount of nostalgia color his voice. "Yes, though it's been some years. We've corresponded about his recent research into rare conditions."

Something flickered in Adelaide's eyes—concern, perhaps, or suspicion. After a moment's hesitation, she stepped back from the doorway. "You'd better come in. The neighbors are terrible gossips."

He accepted her invitation, taking his first strides into the dwelling. The interior of the house was dimly lit, heavy drapes blocking most of the morning light. Adelaide led Dante to a cluttered sitting room, where medical journals and half-finished needlework competed for space on every surface. Among the scattered papers, Dante glimpsed detailed anatomical drawings and charts tracking lunar phases. A half-empty bottle of laudanum sat on a side table, its label bearing Elias's precise handwriting.

"Pardon the mess," she said, clearing books from a chair. "Between Elias's research materials and my own projects, we've rather let things slide." She lowered herself carefully into an armchair. "Especially since Richard... well, since my husband decided public houses were more interesting than his pregnant wife."

Dante remained standing, casting a long shadow across the faded carpet. "Your husband is absent as well?"

Adelaide's laugh held no humor. "Oh yes. Richard's been 'absent' for nearly a week now. Probably face-down in some gin-soaked establishment." She rubbed her temples wearily. "His shipping business went under last spring—bad investments, mounting debts. He took it rather hard.”

"The timing seems unfortunate," Dante observed, glancing at her condition.

Adelaide's laugh held no humor. "That's putting it mildly. He started drinking heavily, staying out at all hours. Then he began rambling about making things right, about some opportunity that would solve everything." She sighed. "I assumed he meant another risky investment scheme."

"Seems possible, yes. When did you last see Dr. Thornbury?" Dante asked.

"Three weeks ago? Maybe four. He was terribly excited about some breakthrough." Adelaide frowned. "Though now that I think about it, he also seemed... troubled. Kept checking his notes, muttering about impossible results."

"Actually," Adelaide said, her voice dropping, "there was a visitor, close to the time when Elias disappeared. A woman who said she represented some medical society from the continent. Very proper, very official."

"Did you speak with her?" Dante asked, his interest sharpening.

"Only briefly. She had letters of introduction, spoke perfect English. But something about her..." Adelaide paused, frowning. "It was probably my imagination, but I felt cold just being near her. She went to Elias's study, and they talked for hours."

"Did he mention what they discussed?"

"He wouldn't say. But after that, he started locking away his research notes. Became terribly careful about who saw his work." Adelaide's fingers played at her handkerchief. "The next day, he burned half his papers. Said not all discoveries need to be published."

Dante kept his expression neutral, though his mind raced. A mysterious woman with impeccable credentials, followed by destroyed research and a vanished doctor—he'd seen this pattern before. The telltale marks of the Sovereign Council’s involvement. 

His attention caught on something above the fireplace—an oval portrait in an ornate gilt frame. The painting depicted a young girl with long blonde hair and striking emerald eyes. There was something unsettling about the way the painted eyes seemed to follow movement in the room.

"The portrait," Dante said, recalling what had happened at the tavern. "May I ask about it?"

Adelaide's face fell slightly. "How did you... has someone been talking about that old thing?" She almost seemed irked that the piece was being brought up. 

"An elderly woman in the village mentioned it. She seemed... concerned." 

"Old Mildred," Adelaide muttered. "She should mind her own business." She was silent for a moment, then continued, "Mother always said it was painted when I was a girl, though I confess I don't remember sitting for it.” She smiled ruefully. "I was quite the terror back then, apparently. Couldn't sit still for more than a minute."

Dante moved closer to the portrait, studying the delicate brushwork. Something in the technique caught his attention—a particular way of layering the paint that he hadn't seen used in decades. 

"The frame is quite remarkable," he observed carefully, noting its understated craftsmanship. 

"Yes, though it's proving troublesome. Last month, I tried to have it restored—it's been in the family so long, you see. But the craftsman said the wood was too delicate to work with, something about the age of the joints." 

“I suppose some things are better left untouched,” Dante said. 

Adelaide nodded slowly. "Sometimes..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Never mind. It's foolish."

"Please," Dante encouraged her. "Sometimes what?"

"Sometimes I look at it and don't recognize myself at all," she whispered. "As if the girl in the painting is someone else entirely. Someone who's been... lost." She gave a forced laugh. "Pregnancy does strange things to one's mind, I suppose."

Dante's fingers traced the air just above the portrait's frame, never quite touching it. "Indeed," he murmured, though his tone suggested he believed otherwise.

Adelaide struggled to her feet, one hand pressed against her back. "Would you like some tea? Elias always said I made the best Earl Grey in town, though I suspect he was just being kind."

"Thank you, no," Dante replied, his guilt deepening at the mention of Elias's preferences—details of a friendship that didn't exist. "About your brother's research—did he mention what he was working on?

Adelaide's face brightened with obvious pride. "He's brilliant, you know. His theories about blood diseases... well, most of it goes over my head, but he's determined to help people others have given up on." She had a thoughtful expression. "The night before he left, he was talking about some remarkable case. A patient with an unusual condition—something about sensitivity to sunlight."

Dante took a sharp intake of breath. "Did he say anything else about this patient?"

"Only that it might change everything we know about certain afflictions." Adelaide rubbed her temples. "He was speaking so quickly, practically buzzing with excitement. Said he needed to confirm something at his office." Her voice grew quiet. "That was the last time I saw him."

"And you've had no word since?"

Adelaide shook her head. "Nothing. I've tried not to worry—Elias often gets lost in his work. But with Richard gone too..." She straightened her shoulders, visibly gathering herself. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to burden you with my troubles."

"Not at all," Dante said. “I am happy to help if you require anything. Please do not be afraid to ask.” 

"I have a simple request. If you do find Elias, tell him to come home. His research can't be more important than family." She paused, then added, "And if you find Richard... well, tell him whatever you like. I've run out of words for that man."

“Noted.” 

As Dante turned to leave, Adelaide called after him. "Wait—you never told me your name."

"Dante," he replied, pausing at the doorway. He figured that Elias likely wouldn’t have mentioned a name like his in the past, which would fit his cover. "Though your brother might not remember me. It's been... some time since we last met."

Adelaide nodded absently, her thoughts elsewhere now. Without speaking further, Dante slipped away, not wanting to disturb her further. The woman definitely had enough on her plate to deal with, and he’d rather not intrude further on her already stressful life. 

Stepping into the morning light, the fresh air did little to clear his thoughts. A brilliant young doctor vanishing while researching sensitivity to sunlight—the implications were troubling. Dr. Thornbury's office would have answers, but Dante suspected they would be answers the good doctor might have been better off not discovering in the first place.