Lincoln felt a tug on his soul.

He sat in the cave of prophecies, wondering if the anomalies were over. It felt like it had been about eighteen hours since they had started; but then again, it was hard to estimate time when you were stuck in a dark cave. Still, there hadn't been anomaly for quite a few minutes, so perhaps they were over. Perhaps he could finally go back to Pacifica and the other Order members and make sure they were okay.

Then the tugging. It felt like someone pinching his skin, or pulling on the back of his winter coat, but it wasn't a physical sensation. Rather, it was a tug on the very connection between his spirit and his body.

Another tug, then a jerk, then a ripping sound. Lincoln braced himself as he left his body and fell back among the stone floor of the cave — though of course he couldn't feel the rock.

"Those scoundrels!" came Bill's voice, shouting from Lincoln's body. "I should have known they would pull something like this!"

"Good morning to you too," Lincoln grumbled. He flew around to look Bill in the eye, since the demon hadn't bothered to turn around. Given the yelling, he expected to see a scowl, with Bill's glowing yellow eyes glaring out at him; instead, he found a huge smile splitting his own wrinkled face and Bill's eyes twinkling triumphantly. "Lord Cipher?" asked Lincoln. "What's going on?"

"I was trying to stop the portal," Bill said, "but I shouldn't have. I should have encouraged it!"

"I thought you didn't want all ten Symbols in town."

"I didn't. But the ancients — those clever devils — built my defeat into my very liberation. Turns out I can't escape unless all ten Symbols are in town."

Lincoln nodded pensively. It made sense. Those ancients knew what they were doing when they trapped Bill in this dimension. "How did you discover that?" he asked.

"The township formed," Bill replied. "The time bubble ended. As soon as the last Symbol entered, a barrier went up around this whole area — the town, the forest, everything. Just like the prophecies say."

This declaration sent shivers up Lincoln's spine — even though, technically, he did not currently have a spine. "Then we should go back to the Order," he said, "and figure out what we need to do next."

Bill gave him a flat look. "Oh, don't pretend that's what you're most concerned about," he said. "You want to go back and make sure your precious Pacifica is okay."

"And everyone else," Lincoln said defensively.

"Sure. Well, we do need to go back. The township has formed, but I don't know how to start it up. All I know is that it has to do with my Symbols, somehow. We'll go back to the Order and see what we can find in the library."

"We" meant Lincoln and the other Order members doing the work as Bill read over their shoulders (so to speak). But that was fine; Lincoln would rather flip through books for Bill than watch in spirit form as Bill did it himself. His spirit form made him feel restless, and he had yet to find a way to get rid of the feeling.

Bill gathered up Lincoln's things in his duffel bag and started from the cave. Lincoln followed him through the forest for what seemed like hours, though it surely wasn't that long. Regardless, it felt interminable: Bill walked in silence, and Lincoln's sense of restlessness only grew.

At least he wasn't the one trudging through the snow. That was a perk.

After a while, Bill stopped. "I need to check on something," he said. "Stay as a ghost; I won't be long." He sat down at the base of a tree, leaned against it, and closed his eyes. The body went slack as Bill left it.

Lincoln watched the body uncomfortably. He felt a faint tug, an urge to return to his body, but he resisted. Bill would be back soon, and Lincoln didn't want to enter his body just to get pulled out again. Sure enough, it wasn't long before his eyes opened again, glowing the yellow glow of Bill's possession. Bill stood up without a word and kept walking.

"What were you checking on?" asked Lincoln. Bill was limited to Lincoln's senses while in his body; the demon couldn't see through other people's minds when possessing someone. If he was "checking" something, it meant he was returning to the mindscape to peer through other people's eyes.

"The Pines," Bill answered. He wouldn't elaborate further.

It wasn't until they could see the Gravity Rises library through the trees that Bill stopped again. "Stanford Pines is waiting for you at the Order entrance," he commented.

The statement came so far out of nowhere that Lincoln took a moment to process it. "Waiting for me? I thought he didn't know I exist."

"He didn't — at least, not you as the leader of the Order. But he just found out about you, and now he thinks you're his long-lost brother."

A longer pause.

"Am I?" Lincoln finally said.

"See for yourself." Bill sat down at the base of another tree and left Lincoln's body.

This time, Lincoln saw Bill fly into the spirit plane. Lincoln tried to ask him what was going on, but Bill simply pointed to Lincoln's body.

So Lincoln flew into it.

The winter cold hit him as he returned to his senses. He got to his feet and brushed the snow from his waterproof pants. Then he just stood there, sorting out what Bill had told him.

Stanford Pines was waiting for him. Stanford Pines, the man responsible for the gravitational anomalies and the terror on the town, was waiting for Lincoln. Nobody outside of the Order was supposed to know about Lincoln; if they found out, then Gideon wiped their memories. Even people like Robbie Corduroy, who knew about the Order, still didn't know about Lincoln. The Order leader kept mostly out of sight.

So how did Stanford Pines suddenly know about him? And why would he think that Lincoln was his brother?

The most obvious answer — that Lincoln was his brother — was the most disconcerting. Lincoln didn't have family. Sure, Percy had felt like his father (despite being less than a decade older than he), and Grace and Pacifica felt somewhat like daughters. . . but they weren't true family, were they? Whatever family Lincoln had — parents, siblings, even children — was lost with the rest of Lincoln's memory. Percy had confirmed this fact multiple times over the years. How could local scientist Stanford Pines be Lincoln's brother if Lincoln was told he had no family around here?

The idea of a having a brother — of being a brother — filled Lincoln with a surprising longing. It also filled him with fear. What would be expected of him as a brother? If Stanford Pines — Public Enemy Number One in the Order right now — really was his brother, how would that work?

Finally, Lincoln unrooted himself from the spot where he stood, swallowed his dread, and started for the library. He made his way to the side of the building, which was at an angle to the tree line, and approached the wall without seeing anyone. But he could hear voices around the corner. With a flurry of fear, Lincoln listened to their conversation.

"No one knows where he is, Stanford, or when he'll be back. I don't think you should wait for him here." It was Gregory Corduroy's voice, strained with a forced calm.

"Oh, so I should just go home, and you'll come tell me when he gets back? You, who have kept my brother hidden from me for thirty years?"

This second voice washed over Lincoln in a jarring wave. He knew in an instant that it must belong to Stanford. For all that Lincoln had heard about Stanford, he had never actually seen or heard the man. Yet his voice. . . It sounded familiar. It was a feeling Lincoln had felt many times, though one that he had never quite gotten used to: like he had heard the voice before — like it was well-known to him — yet, before this moment, he couldn't remember ever hearing it. No memories. Just familiarity. It was a sensation that Lincoln hated.

He pushed the feeling away and focused on the conversation. "I don't know what we'll do when he gets back," Janice Corduroy was saying. "That's up to Lord Cipher."

Lincoln's stomach churned. Lord Cipher. Bill had sent Lincoln here. He had brought him to the Order at this exact moment, so that Lincoln could meet a brother he didn't remember. And there was no doubt that Stanford was his brother: That voice was too familiar.

"I won't wait for Bill to decide when I get to see my brother," the familiar voice said. "He's already been deciding that for thirty years. Let me in, Corduroy, and I'll wait down there."

Thirty years. Bill had kept Lincoln from Stanford — had kept Stanford from Lincoln — for thirty years. Had Stanford been looking for Lincoln that whole time? Lincoln suddenly felt as if, all this time, he had been waiting to be found. The longing feeling increased, as did a deep pain. If Stanford had been here the whole time, then Bill had deceived him. Percy had deceived him. The Corduroys had deceived him. There wasn't a single Order member who didn't know who Stanford was, which meant that there wasn't a single Order member who hadn't been hiding this from him.

Everyone Lincoln cared about — Percy, Grace, Pacifica — had been lying to him all along.

The realization made it difficult to breathe.

As Lincoln processed all of this, the conversation continued. "I don't think this is a good idea," another, unfamiliar voice said.

"Stay out of this, Melody," was Stanford's tight response.

"No, I won't. I know this has been hard, but you're not thinking clearly — none of us are."

"I'm thinking clearly enough! I need to get inside. Now."

"This is a lot to process, Ford, I know. You need to—"

"I just want my brother back!" shouted Stanford.

The shout pulled Lincoln back into focus; with it, he started shaking all over. His composure, so often impeccable, was gone entirely. Nevertheless, he knew he had to get out there. He stepped forward so that he was in view. "I'm right here," he said through a gummy throat.

For a split second, he saw the scene: the Corduroys, looking horrified; the unfamiliar woman, Melody, staring at him in shock; the back of a silver-haired head that must belong to Stanford. Then the head whipped around, and Lincoln got his first look at the face of his brother.

It froze him where he stood.

"Stanley!" cried Stanford. One moment, he stood by Melody; the next, he sprinted across the ground and threw his arms around Lincoln. He hugged Lincoln with all the desperation of a long-lost brother. Relieved sobs forced their way through his lungs in staggered gasps. Lincoln, on the other hand, couldn't breathe at all — and he couldn't tell if it was because Stanford was hugging him so tightly or because he felt so panicked.

"Stanley." Stanford choked over the name. "Stanley. You're here. You're finally here."

Stanley. Was that. . . his name?

Stanford shifted his grip, crying into Lincoln's neck. "I finally found you," he wept. "I thought I'd lost you, Stanley."

With this, the panic overwhelmed Lincoln. He pushed Stanford away with wide eyes as he realized the terrible truth: Stanford had lost him. Whoever this Stanley was, he was erased by the memory gun and replaced by Lincoln. Frantic thoughts — he lost me — Stanley is gone, and I'm not really his brother at all — I really don't have any family — raced through Lincoln's head as he stared in horror at the man in front of him.

"Stanley?" Stanford's tear-stained face jumped to an alarmed expression. "Stanley, what's wrong?"

Lincoln couldn't answer. He found his gaze locked on Stanford's face, which looked almost exactly like Lincoln's own reflection. Save a few differences — smaller ears, glasses, a narrower face, a different hairstyle — they could almost be the same man. Yet Lincoln, when he instinctively reached for the memories of Stanford that he knew should be there, could find none. Thirty years, and Lincoln still hadn't stopped searching for memories that he knew he wouldn't find. With Bill's help, especially after their first deal, the discomfort from this habit had faded. But now it was back. It was back, and it felt stronger than Lincoln had ever known.

"Stanley!" Hands grasped Lincoln's shoulders. "Stanley, it's me! It's your brother!" A wild expression crept onto Stanford's face, and Lincoln was sure it looked similar to his own.

"Lincoln."

The voice — Gregory's voice — finally gave Lincoln the push he needed to snap his gaze away from Stanford. His eyes landed on Greg, whose expression was a murky mixture of guilt and pain and fear. "Lincoln," said Greg, his voice shaky, "this is Stanford."

Stanford's brow furrowed, and he turned on Greg. "He knows who I am," he snapped. But this only intensified the guilty looks on Greg's and Janice's faces. Stanford whirled back around. "Of course you know who I am," he said to Lincoln.

Miraculously, Lincoln found the air to speak. "Stanford," he said slowly. It felt as if he'd never said the name before, even though he'd discussed this man often with Lord Cipher. "I. . . I do know who you are." But I didn't know you were my brother until now, he added silently. How will you react, when I tell you that I don't remember you?

It was then that he decided he couldn't. He couldn't tell Stanford that he didn't remember him. It wouldn't be possible.

Stanford's expression remained guarded. "Why are you acting like this?" he asked. "Don't tell me you've been hiding from me for all these years."

Lincoln didn't know how to respond to that. Had he been hiding? From the general public, yes. From Stanford specifically, no. Bill had been the one hiding Lincoln from Stanford. Bill and every other Order member.

Lincoln thought he should be getting angry at this point, but he couldn't. Instead, the pain threatened to overwhelm him.

"I haven't been hiding from you," he said, and it was true enough. "I. . . I didn't know you were here."

Stanford stared at him, his mouth opening and closing in confusion. "If it's true," he said, "and you do lead the Order, then you knew I was here. You've been fighting against me since I started gathering my Journals. If you know who I am, and where I was, then why didn't you come find me, if you weren't hiding from me?"

Lincoln stared right back, dumbfounded. Then, "Stanford," said Gregory, stepping forward. "Stanford, there's something else."

Just like that, it dawned on him. Lincoln knew what he could do.

"Stanford, you said earlier that you would wait for me inside?" He got only a confused look in response, but he turned to Greg. A bit of his usual authoritative persona came back as he said, "Gregory, please escort Stanford downstairs. Take him to my room. I'll meet you down there." Greg looked confused, until Lincoln added, "Tell him everything you know about me."

Greg's eyes widened. "Are you sure?" he asked hesitantly.

"Everything," Lincoln confirmed. "I can't explain it myself." He fixed Greg with a hard stare. "It'll help you make up for hiding this from me for so many years," he added in a firm voice.

Fear sprang to Greg's face. "Of course, Blind Lincoln," he said, using the more formal name for the Order leader.

"Stanley, what is going on?" demanded Stanford. "How have they been hiding this from you?"

Lincoln turned sad eyes on him. "It's a long story," he said. "Gregory will explain."

Stanford took his arm. "Why can't you explain?"

He closed his eyes. "Gregory will explain," he repeated. "Please, Stanford. Go with him."

Gregory moved to Stanford's side and put a gentle hand on his arm.

"Wait." Melody stepped forward. "Wait, Ford, you can't go down there. Not again."

Stanford stiffened. He glanced over his shoulder at Melody, then back to Lincoln. "If this is how I get to be with my brother, then I'll do it." The words were for Melody, but he looked directly into Lincoln's eyes as he said them.

Lincoln gave him a slow nod. He did want to talk to Stanford — but not right now. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he didn't want to be there when Stanford discovered his amnesia.

"What about Pacifica?" said Melody.

Gregory glanced to her. "I'll keep her away from him," he said.

"I'll go talk to Pacifica," said Lincoln. "Then I'll join you, Stanford."

"Stanley." Melody fixed him with a fierce look. "This place has never been safe for us. Ford is still injured from the last time he was here. One of our own was almost killed down there. Can you promise me that he'll be safe?"

The words burrowed under Lincoln's skin with the sting of accusation. Could Lincoln promise that Stanford would be safe? No, he realized. He couldn't. Pacifica was down there — Lincoln knew that she had tortured Stanford before. There was no telling how Stanford might injure himself, out of anger, once he found out about Lincoln's amnesia. Lastly — the scariest possibility of all — there was always a chance that Bill might possess Lincoln and hurt Stanford himself.

"I can't," Lincoln whispered. "I can't promise. But I'll do my best."

Melody made a strangled sound, but neither Lincoln nor Stanford looked to her. Instead, they gazed into each other's eyes, each one trying to gauge the sincerity of the other. "I'll take that risk," Stanford finally said. "As long as you actually come and join me. I can't lose you again, Stanley."

You never found me, whispered Lincoln's brain. He shoved the thought away. "You won't."

Stanford looked between Lincoln and Greg. Then he nodded.

Greg glanced at Lincoln. "Should I use cuffs?" he asked softly. He was worried, Lincoln realized — worried that Stanford might hurt him once he told him about the amnesia.

Another strangled noise escaped from Melody's throat. "Cuffs? How is that keeping him safe?"

Lincoln gave her a level gaze. "It would be to keep Gregory safe." He went to get his duffel bag, which he had left behind the library, and returned to the group. Unzipping the bag, he pulled out a spare pair of handcuffs with their key and handed them to Greg. "Are you willing?" he asked Stanford.

It took a moment for Stanford to answer. "Is this the only way to get down there?" he finally said.

Another glance at Greg showed that the handcuffs would make him feel a lot better about his assignment. "Yes," Lincoln replied.

With a determined look at his brother, Ford held out his wrists.

Greg pulled his arms behind him and fastened the cuffs. "Cuff him to the lantern once you get to my room," Lincoln instructed. "The one above my bed." The same lantern that Lincoln had been cuffed to, all those years ago, when he'd first awoken with no memory.

"Stop," said Melody, her voice taking on an edge of desperation. "Stanley, stop. Ford — please. Please don't do this."

Stanford turned to her. "It'll be okay," he said softly.

"Will it?" Her voice was weak.

Both of them looked to Lincoln for an answer to her question.

"We'll explain everything," Lincoln promised. He doubted anything would be okay afterwards, but at least Stanford wouldn't be left in the dark.

"When will you let him go?"

Lincoln and Stanford shared another look. "I don't know," Lincoln admitted.

Melody stared at them both with pained eyes. Janice Corduroy came up beside her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder; Melody jumped, but she didn't move away.

Greg took a deep breath. "Can you handle things at the barrier, Janice?" he asked. She nodded, and Greg took Ford by the arm. "Let's go, then."

Lincoln was curious about the barrier, but it wasn't even close to his first priority right now. He watched as Greg led Ford to the door and typed in the entry code.

Before they went inside, Ford looked desperately over his shoulder. "Stanley," he said, "don't leave me down there. I'll go, but don't — don't leave me alone."

"I won't," Lincoln promised.

His piercing eyes searched Lincoln's face. "I'll see you soon, then." He said it like a command. Then Greg pointed him through the door, and the two men disappeared down the steps.

Lincoln let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

But there wouldn't be a reprieve for long. "What are you doing?" Melody tore from Janice's side and marched right up to Lincoln. "How could you take your own brother captive?"

"Stanford came here himself, Melody," Janice pointed out, but she received such a fierce glare in return that she put up her hands and took a step back.

Melody turned back to Lincoln. "He opened that portal for you, Stanley. We all thought you were on the other side of it. He could have gotten himself killed looking for you. How could you just send him away like that?"

Lincoln took a deep breath, though it didn't feel deep enough. "I have to go." He glanced at the open door to the Order.

"Fine," Melody said. "Go down there and talk to him, just like you said you would. And then bring him back to me."

Her gaze was so intense that Lincoln could hardly think of defying her. "I will," he said. Even as he said it, he hoped he was telling the truth. Who knew what Bill would do, now that Stanford was so thoroughly in his territory?

"You had better." With that, Melody drew in a sharp breath, turned away, and walked back to the road. Lincoln and Janice were left alone behind the library. Janice didn't move; she was waiting for Lincoln to dismiss her.

He looked at her for a long moment. "You kept this from me," he finally said. "You all kept this from me."

Janice held herself up straight, but her voice was small as she replied, "Yes."

A shaky breath escaped his lips. "You may go," he said. He didn't wait to see what she did before he picked up his duffel bag and left, entering the Order headquarters and closing the door.

The metal door shut solidly behind him, and Lincoln leaned against it. His legs trembled, threatening to give out; but if he gave in now, he wasn't sure he would ever get up again. Painful thoughts swirled around him as he pushed himself off the door and headed down the stairs. Not yet. Don't stop yet. You still have to talk to Stanford. You still have to face him, even after he knows about your amnesia.

Lincoln took off his coat and snow pants, leaving them in a bundle on the floor with his bag. Then he walked through the halls, pausing at the intersection that would take him to his own room or to Pacifica's.

Another deep breath. Just keep breathing. Just keep moving. Don't stop, or the pain will crush you. Keep going.

He turned and headed for Pacifica's room.