Current Year: 1827, New England

The sun shines high in the sky, casting a warm light over the open fields of the Lancaster estate. The breeze is light, enough to sway the leaves of the large oak tree you're sitting under. The book rests comfortably in your hands, and for a few minutes, the whole world seems to fit between those yellowed pages.

You barely notice the birdsong or the soft creaking of the branches overhead—so immersed are you in your reading. It's one of those rare days when everything seems peaceful.

Until a shadow falls from the sky.

— BOO!

You scream, the book flies from your hands, and your heart leaps into your throat. A second later, you know exactly who it was—because no one else would be as reckless, dramatic, and utterly irritating as Arthur Lancaster.

He falls to the ground with a light thud and a victorious smile on his face, as if he'd just won an award for "worst scare of the year."

"You idiot!" you exclaim, still trying to catch your breath. "Are you trying to scare me to death?"

Arthur laughs. And of course, he laughs. That husky, cheeky laugh you've heard in all sorts of situations—usually after he's done something stupid.

"I was up there for at least ten minutes, waiting for the perfect moment. You should have seen your face," he says, brushing the dust off his pants with a look of pride.

"Ten minutes?" You arch an eyebrow. "You were spying on me for ten minutes?"

"Technically, I was analyzing the angle of the fall." He shrugs, but the glint in his eyes betrays the provocation. "And maybe admiring your incredible ability to ignore the world while you read. What book is that, anyway?"