The biting Oxford wind whipped at Ethan's threadbare scarf, a meager defense against the November chill that seemed to seep into his very bones. He hunched deeper into himself, the weight of his grief a heavier burden than any academic tome. His grandfather, Alistair Blackwood, renowned—some would say infamous—archaeologist, had been gone for three weeks. Three weeks since a quiet heart attack had silenced a voice that had thundered through lecture halls and ruffled feathers across the archaeological establishment for decades.