John was still staring at the unfamiliar face in the mirror when the door behind him suddenly opened.
The sound made him flinch.
He turned sharply.
An elderly man in a dark waistcoat had stepped halfway into the room, a silver tray balanced carefully in his hands. The man froze the instant he saw John standing there.
For a brief moment the two simply stared at one another.
John recognized him immediately, not from his own memories, but from the fragments that now lived inside his head.
Hawkins.
The Halsworth family butler.
The man who had served the household for nearly twenty years.
Hawkins recovered first, though the surprise remained written plainly across his face.
"Master John… you are awake."
His tone carried the careful restraint of a servant trying not to show too much emotion, but his eyes were wide with disbelief.
John straightened slightly, instinctively mirroring the posture the original owner of the body would have used.
"Good morning, Hawkins."
The greeting came out naturally enough, though it still felt strange hearing the voice leave his own mouth.
The butler stepped fully into the room now, gently closing the door behind him.
"I did not expect to find you on your feet, sir," he said cautiously. "Last night you collapsed quite suddenly."
John felt the weight of the words.
Collapsed.
So that had truly happened.
"I suppose I must have given you quite a scare," John said lightly.
"A rather serious one, sir."
Hawkins set the tray on a nearby table before approaching.
It was only then that his gaze shifted, drawn almost involuntarily to John's abdomen.
The bandages were gone.
And in their place was the faint scar that marked the path of the bullet.
Entry.
Exit.
He stopped mid-step.
For the first time since entering the room, the butler's composure cracked.
His eyes widened slightly.
"Sir… your wound."
John followed his gaze and looked down as though noticing it for the first time.
The skin had already sealed over, leaving behind only two pale scars.
Even to him it looked unnatural.
Last night that wound had been infected, angry and swollen in the memories he had seen.
Yet now it looked weeks healed.
John scratched the back of his head casually.
"Yes… it appears better this morning."
Hawkins blinked.
"Better?"
The man sounded like he had just been told the Thames had dried up overnight.
"Sir, yesterday evening the wound was… quite severe. I distinctly recall the physician's concern."
John resisted the urge to smile.
I imagine he would be concerned.
After all, the man had probably expected his patient to die of infection within a few days.
Instead the wound had simply… disappeared.
He shrugged."I suppose a night's rest does wonders."The explanation satisfied absolutely no one.
Hawkins stared at the scar a moment longer before finally regaining his composure.
"Well… regardless," he said carefully, "I am pleased to see you standing."
John nodded.
Inside, however, his thoughts were moving rapidly.
Yeah… I'd be surprised too.
Seeing a bullet wound heal overnight would be enough to make anyone question reality.
He made a mental note to keep the scar hidden when possible.
Victorian doctors were not exactly known for their subtle curiosity.
The last thing he needed was to become a medical curiosity.
Fortunately Hawkins seemed to decide that questioning it further would be improper.
Instead he cleared his throat politely.
"Would you like me to prepare a bath for you, sir?"
The suggestion immediately reminded John how his body felt, sticky, dirty, still carrying the stale smell of travel and sweat.
He had been too distracted by the whole reincarnation revelation to notice before, but now that it had been mentioned the discomfort became impossible to ignore.
A bath suddenly sounded heavenly.
"That would be excellent, Hawkins."
The butler inclined his head slightly.
"I shall have hot water prepared at once."
He paused, then added gently,
"And afterward, breakfast."
John's stomach reacted instantly.
He hadn't eaten since… well…
Actually he had no idea when the last proper meal had been.
"Breakfast sounds perfect," he admitted.
Hawkins nodded approvingly.
"Very good, sir."
The butler moved toward the door but stopped before opening it.
"Master John."
"Yes?"
Hawkins hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully.
"I am glad to see you recovered this morning."
Something about the tone made John pause.
It was not just the polite concern of a servant.
There was genuine relief there.
Perhaps even worry.
It reminded John that the people in this house had known the original John his entire life.
To them, he was not some stranger wearing a familiar face.
He was simply the young master they had watched grow up.
"I appreciate that, Hawkins," he said sincerely.
The butler gave a small nod before leaving the room.
The door clicked softly shut.
Silence returned.
John exhaled slowly.
"Well," he muttered to himself.
"That was interesting."
He turned back toward the mirror.
The face looking back at him still felt unfamiliar.
But the world around him was beginning to settle into place.
A Victorian house.
A loyal butler.
Memories that were not quite his own.
And a life that now belonged to him whether he wanted it or not.
John rubbed the back of his neck.
"I guess I should get used to this."
After all…
This was no longer a dream.
It was 1874.
And he was John Halsworth.