Tomorrow's Crimes ll Moriarty the Patriot

This Can't Be Real

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Adelaide." William's smile was as warm as summer sunshine, his unusual crimson eyes filled with genuine kindness. "Please accept my congratulations on your successful debut to society, and though belated, my sincere birthday wishes."

Adelaide's hand twitched forward instinctively - three months in Victorian England hadn't completely erased her modern impulse to shake hands - before she caught herself and dropped into a careful curtsy instead. Don't shake his hand, don't shake his hand, she chanted internally. Victorian lady, remember? You're supposed to be a Victorian lady. Who definitely doesn't shake hands with gentlemen.

Then she looked up, really looked, and found herself frozen mid-rise from her curtsy.

Because those eyes were red. Actually, legitimately red. Not the warm brown she'd initially assumed, or some trick of the afternoon light, but the impossible crimson she'd only ever seen in—no. No, she wouldn't let herself complete that thought.

Adelaide stared.

And stared.

And continued staring.

Her mind, already fragile from three months of pretending to be someone she wasn't—of watching every word and gesture for fear of revealing herself, of dealing with increasingly concerned looks from "her" family, of enduring probing questions from a doctor about her sudden "peculiarities"—simply... stopped working.

"William has only just returned from Durham," Albert was saying somewhere in the distance, but Adelaide couldn't seem to focus on his words. She knew. She knew that something about Albert had been nagging at her since she first met him at her debut—that familiar face, those mannerisms she could have sworn she'd seen before, and his backstory. But she'd dismissed it as impossible. Because it was impossible. It had to be impossible.

First, I get sent back in time, her thoughts raced wildly. Thrown into the body of a teenage aristocrat whose family is slowly becoming convinced she's lost her mind. There's a cousin who knows I'm not Adelaide and is determined to prove it. I'm grappling with a doctor I know—I know—is destined to become a monster. And now? NOW? I'm in an ANIME?! Moriarty the Patriot? REALLY? And Albert—ALBERT—how had she not realized sooner? This was their second interaction, finding him oddly familiar, and never once had she let herself acknowledge why. Because who would? Who would look at a real person and think: Excuse me Sir, aren't you supposed to be animated?

"Lady Adelaide?" William's voice was gentle with concern, pulling her back to the present moment. She realized she was still frozen in an awkward half-curtsy position, staring at his impossible eyes while the other guests at the garden party cast curious glances their way.

Albert stepped closer, his expression worried. "Perhaps we should find you a seat—"

"I'm fine!" Adelaide straightened too quickly, nearly losing her balance. Both brothers moved to steady her, but she managed to right herself, smoothing her skirts with hands that shook slightly. "I mean... I'm quite well, thank you."

William exchanged a glance with his brother before speaking softly. "I understand you experienced some difficulty moments ago. There's no shame in needing a moment to recover. Such episodes can be quite overwhelming."

Adelaide wanted to laugh hysterically. A panic attack. Yes, she'd had one earlier when the weight of everything—the time travel, the constant pretense, the expectations—had finally overwhelmed her. And now, just when she thought she was getting a handle on things, reality had decided to throw in a plot twist.