Miles stared at the envelope, then lifted his gaze toward the President with clear confusion.
"What is it about, Mr President?"
Maxwell folded his hands on the table, studying Miles carefully.
"Tell me, Miles… do you know anything about time travel?"
Miles blinked, stunned. For a moment he wondered if this was a joke, a test, or some strange metaphor.
"Are you joking, Mr President?"
Maxwell shook his head.
"Not time travel in its literal sense. Something… similar. Something older. Just look through it. Then tell me what you know."
Miles exhaled slowly.
He picked up the envelope, ran his thumb over the heavy seal, and cracked the wax.
Inside were several aged-looking documents.
Maps. Sketches. Torn parchments preserved in plastic sheets. Diagrams. Cryptic text.
Some handwritten. Some printed.
Some impossibly old.
Miles lifted each page carefully, studying the ink, tracing the symbols with narrowed eyes.
Pictures of ruins.
Star patterns.
