He took his gold pocket watch out of his waistcoat, checked the dial, and snapped the case shut with a dull metallic click.

“You were out on the grounds late tonight,” Arthur said, his voice flat in the quiet room.

“Final roll call ran long,” I said.

On the laminate counter beside the kitchen door sat my framed high school graduation ticket, set in polished brass twelve years ago.

Tucked partway behind the glass was a folded sheet of white paper with a red airline logo across the top.

I walked over to the counter, slid the paper out from behind the brass frame, and unfolded it under the lamp.