"Thank you, Jocelyn," he said, trying to sound like he'd known her name all along. "I'll head down shortly."

She curtsied again and left, but not before giving him one more confused look. Cael sighed. He was going to have to be more careful. The original Sarek had clearly established certain patterns of behavior, and deviating from them too obviously would raise questions he couldn't answer.

But he also couldn't afford to maintain the original Sarek's incompetence. The estate was collapsing, the deadline was approaching, and wholesale change was necessary if anyone was going to survive this.

He'd just have to be strategic about it.

Cael washed his face and hands in the lukewarm water, another thing to add to the list of problems, no hot water system, and headed out to find the dining room. The manor's layout was confusing, a hodgepodge of additions and renovations from different eras that suggested no one had ever bothered with comprehensive planning. He got lost twice before finally following the smell of bread and finding his way to a large room with tall windows and a long table.

Three people looked up as he entered.

The woman at the head of the table was clearly his mother, Lady Mavena Ashford, if he remembered the documents correctly. She was in her early fifties, with graying hair and the kind of stern, aristocratic features that suggested she'd once been beautiful and was now simply formidable. Her eyes, the same hazel as Cael's new ones, narrowed as she took him in.

"Sarek," she said, her tone flat. "How unusual to see you before evening."

The girl sitting to her right had to be his sister, Lillian. Eighteen years old, with the same chestnut hair but lighter, more delicate features. She looked up at him with wide eyes that held something between hope and fear.

And in the chair at the opposite end of the table, propped up with pillows and looking gray-faced and exhausted, sat Count Vance Ashford. His father. Even in his weakened state, Cael could see the resemblance, the same bone structure, the same hazel eyes, now dimmed with pain and illness.

The weight of it hit him suddenly. These were real people. Not characters in a novel anymore, but living, breathing human beings whose lives depended on his ability to fix the catastrophe the original Sarek had created.

"Mother. Father. Lillian." Cael took his seat at the table, trying to ignore how everyone was staring at him. "I apologize for my... recent absences from family meals. That will be changing."

Lady Mavena's expression didn't shift, but something flickered in her eyes. Suspicion, maybe. Or hope. It was hard to tell.

"Will it?" she asked coolly. "You've said such things before, Sarek."

Fair enough. The original Sarek had probably made and broken a thousand promises. Cael would have to prove himself through actions, not words.

"I've been reviewing the estate documents," he said, deciding directness was his best approach. "The situation is... serious."

His father let out a weak, bitter laugh that turned into a cough. Lillian reached over to steady him, her face tight with worry.

"Serious," Count Vance repeated when he could speak again. "That's one word for it. Catastrophic might be another. Ruinous. Fatal."

The words were harsh, but the way he looked at Cael, at Sarek, his son, held more grief than anger. This was a father who'd watched his child destroy everything he'd built and had been too sick to stop it.

Cael's chest tightened with guilt that wasn't even his own. "I know," he said quietly. "And I know I'm responsible. I intend to fix it."

"With what?" Lady Mavena's voice was sharp. "You've gambled away our liquid capital. The harvest was poor because you neglected the fields. The villages are barely producing enough to feed themselves, let alone generate revenue for taxes. In one month, the tax collector will come, and we'll have nothing to give him."

She leaned forward, her eyes hard. "And then Duke Alde will take everything, and we'll be fortunate if execution is the worst that happens to us."

The duke. Cael remembered fragments from the novel, Duke Theron Alde, the real power behind the throne, ruthless and brilliant and utterly without mercy for incompetent nobles. And his younger brother, the Commander of the Royal Knights...

Cael pushed that thought aside. He'd worry about Ryn Alde later. Right now, he had immediate problems.

"I have a plan," he said, with more confidence than he felt. "But I need to see the estate first. The villages, the infrastructure, the actual physical resources we have to work with."

Lillian spoke for the first time, her voice soft but curious. "Infrastructure?"

"The roads, the water systems, the buildings, the agricultural setup." Cael gestured vaguely. "I can't create a development plan without understanding what we're working with."

The three family members stared at him. Lady Mavena looked like she was trying to decide if he'd lost his mind. His father just looked confused. But Lillian, there was something speculative in her gaze, a spark of intelligence that made Cael think she might be an ally if he could win her trust.

"A development plan," Lady Mavena repeated slowly. "Sarek, have you been drinking?"

"I'm completely sober." Cael met her eyes steadily. "I know you have no reason to trust me. I know the original, I know I've given you every reason to doubt. But I'm asking you to give me one month. Let me try to fix this."

"One month is all we have," his father said quietly. "And then it's over."

"Then I'd better not waste it." Cael stood. "I'm going to tour the estate today. I'll need..." He paused, trying to remember the proper terms from the documents. "The estate manager. Temil, I think his name was? And whoever oversees the villages."

"Temil Plaud is nominally our estate manager," Lady Mavena said, her tone making it clear what she thought of that arrangement. "Though he's had little to manage since you dismissed most of his authority months ago. As for the villages, we haven't had a proper overseer since Lord Barrett retired last year."

More damage to undo. Cael nodded. "Have Temil meet me at the stables in an hour. I want to see everything, the town, the villages, the fields, the water sources. All of it."

He headed for the door, then paused and turned back. His father was watching him with an expression that might have been the faintest hint of hope.

"I know I've failed you," Cael said, the words feeling both true and false at the same time. True for the original Sarek, false for himself. "But I'm going to make it right. I promise."

He left before anyone could respond, striding through the corridors with a purpose he was only half faking. Inside, his mind was already racing ahead, categorizing problems and sketching solutions.

The tour of the estate was worse than the documents had suggested.

Temil Plaud turned out to be a nervous man in his mid-twenties who'd clearly given up trying to maintain anything. As they rode through the main town, Ashford, such as it was, Cael's engineering eye catalogued disaster after disaster.

No proper drainage system. Waste water running in open channels through the streets, mixing with drinking water sources. Buildings with obvious structural problems, cracked foundations, sagging rooflines, load-bearing walls that had been compromised by damp. Roads that were more mud and holes than actual paving. A market square that flooded every time it rained, according to Temil.

"Why hasn't anyone fixed this?" Cael asked, gesturing at a particularly egregious example where a building was clearly about to collapse.

Temil looked at him like he'd asked why no one had built a spaceship. "Fixed it, my lord? With what funds? You... that is, the estate hasn't allocated money for infrastructure in years."

Because the original Sarek had been too busy gambling it away. Right.

The villages were worse. Twelve settlements scattered across the estate's territory, connected by roads that were barely passable. Fields that should have been rotating crops but had been planted with the same thing year after year, depleting the soil. Irrigation systems that had broken down and never been repaired. Storage facilities that were rotting, leading to massive food waste.

And everywhere, people who looked at him with a mixture of resentment and hopelessness.

By the time they returned to the manor house as the sun was setting, Cael's head was spinning with problems. But his hands, his unfamiliar, uncalloused hands, were itching to start solving them.

Back in his room, he lit every candle he could find and spread out a large piece of parchment on the desk. Time to do what he did best: turn chaos into order.

He started sketching, his hand moving quickly despite the unfamiliar quill pen. First, a rough map of the estate based on what he'd seen. Then, priority lists. Infrastructure problems ranked by urgency and impact. Resource allocation. Timeline projections.

The most immediate crisis was water. Contaminated water sources were causing disease, which reduced the workforce, which reduced productivity, which reduced revenue. Fix the water, and everything else became more manageable.

He could design a proper well system with filtration. The materials existed in this world, sand, gravel, charcoal. It wouldn't be as sophisticated as modern water treatment, but it would be a massive improvement. And if he could demonstrate competence with something that concrete, maybe the estate staff would start believing change was possible.

Cael worked late into the night, covering sheet after sheet of parchment with calculations and designs. His eyes burned with exhaustion, his new body protesting the hours of intense focus, but he couldn't stop. There was too much to do, too little time, and for the first time since waking up in this strange world, he felt like himself again.

He was building something. Even if it was just plans on paper right now, he was doing what he knew how to do.

Somewhere in the early hours of morning, he finally collapsed into bed, his mind still churning with designs and schedules and calculations.

Tomorrow, he'd start implementing. Tomorrow, he'd show them that the worthless third son had somehow become someone useful.

Tomorrow, he'd start building his way out of execution.