Marina tried to make herself invisible. She moved toward the hallway. Raya lingered, drawn like a moth to the parchment. She did not know why, but something pulled her closer.
Allerton began to speak. “This manuscript, Mr. Langston, predates the earliest known treaty drafts by nearly five decades. We have private investors in Boston who are eager to move, but we thought of you first. It belongs here, with your collection. With your legacy.”
Everett nodded slowly. The numbers were spoken next. Eight figures. Murmurs of historical significance. A promise that whoever controlled this document could reshape academic understanding. A monumental moment.
Raya listened. Then her eyes drifted to the manuscript. She froze. The lettering was neat, almost hypnotic. But one detail clawed at her attention. A diacritic above a letter that should not exist in that century. A mark she recognized from her great-grandfather’s notes. A detail not yet standardized in the era this document supposedly came from.