A year had passed and life went on. The Fat Director had decided that while he couldn't get rid of Fernby, he COULD do something about Bluey and Greeny. Thus, he split them up. Greeny went down to Tidmouth while Bluey was sent to help out on the Wellsworth Branch Line.

The line to Harwick also managed to reach Arlesburgh, allowing the Mid Sodor to finally have a standard gauge connection. This was a great relief to passengers, who no longer needed to take a bus in order to get to and from Tidmouth. After reaching Arlesburgh, it was found that the immediate threat had passed. Thus, the Admiralty decided there was no longer any need to expand to Harwick: their own shuttle vehicles would take them there. To make sure his brothers didn't try to sneak up to Vicarstown, John was entrusted with the services on this line, with help from 98462 and Timmy.

As for Conan, the last time he'd heard from his brother had been on November 1915. It was now June 1916, and his 16th birthday grew near. He became worried: had his brother been killed in action? Surely, he and his grandparents would've been sent a letter informing him if that were the case! This worry began affecting his mind, and he started to lose focus on his work.

Everyone noticed that, especially Thomas, who was most affected: the more Conan worried, the less he steamed. Before long, the Fat Director staged another intervention, hoping they could help Conan regain his senses.

One afternoon, a week and a half before his birthday, Conan found himself cornered by Thomas, Jewelie, Edward, and the Fat Director.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"You know it, Conan: you've been worrying about your brother," said Thomas the Tank Engine.

"So what? You know why I'm worried: I haven't heard about him since November. What if he's been killed! Why wouldn't my family be informed about that?!"

"Do you have reason to think he's dead?" asked Jewelie. "He just may not have been able to send any letters: there's this flying corps I've heard of, he may have been recruited into that."

"What is that? Soldiers strapped with wings? Come on, that's madness."

"I've heard something regarding aeroplanes," said Edward. "So they've gone ahead with that I see."

"Returning to the subject matter," said the Fat Director, "while I understand you're worried about your brother, you're also becoming unfocused. Consequently, Thomas isn't steaming well, and we can't afford to have any engines out of action during the busy summer months. If you promise to focus on your work, I promise to do what I can to find out where your brother is. Do we have a deal?"

Conan thought about this, remembering how the Fat Director used all he could to help him and Jewelie meet with Mr. Brown. Deciding it was best to trust the man, he looked at him.

"Of course sir, I accept that deal."

"Glad to see you're with us," smiled the Fat Director. "Now then, time we all got back to work: we still have a railway to run."

Soon, Thomas found himself steaming good again, while Conan began to take lessons as his fireman, at the insistence of the Fat Director, who decided he was due for a promotion. The first step to this was to have an inspector put him through an oral examination. Conan proved to be competent enough, thus, the inspector agreed to promote him to "passed cleaner", meaning he could now begin firing on a regular basis.

Of course, Conan couldn't fire Thomas all the time, but when he did, the drivers found that Thomas would steam better than he did with other firemen, even the one he came to Sodor with. The reason for that, even Conan didn't fully know, but he suspected their bond had to do with it.

"Mostly a deal of knowing what you're doing," Conan would say to anybody who asked. Conan found he had to observe things more than he did as a cleaner : not only did he need to watch how the driver handled Thomas, but also all about the lines over which they worked: the location of signals and stations, the gradients, the speed restrictions for curves, and what the book of rules and regulations had to say about the safe working of the trains and how to proceed in an emergency. While Thomas mostly stayed in Vicarstown, it was still a lot Conan had to pay attention to.

The rest of June passed without incident, and on the Fourth of July, a day not celebrated in Britain, a troop train arrived in Vicarstown that afternoon.

A tall man with a limp stepped out of the train, his face covered by a battered helmet.

"Excuse me, have you seen a boy named Conan Owens?" he asked a porter.

"He's busy firing Thomas at the moment," the porter answered.

"Thanks," said the man, taking a seat on a nearby bench.

The man stayed there for a while, which led the stationmaster to approach him, a bit confused about why he didn't move.

"Excuse me, sir," he asked, "is there a reason you're sitting around?"

"Yes, I'm waiting for somebody," the man answered. "I heard he was firing an engine called Thomas. And no, I won't tell you why I'm waiting for him."

As if on cue, Thomas steamed into the station, blowing steam all over the platform.

"That would be me, I'm Thomas," he said. "Hey, wait, are you Noah Owens, brother of Conan Owens?"

"I am. How did you know?"

"See for yourself," Thomas replied.

"Is that really you, brother?" Conan asked, stepping out.

Noah started to tear up, barely visible under his helmet.

"Indeed it is, Conan," said Noah. The two hugged each other, happy to reunite.

"I missed you, brother…" sobbed Conan.

"Me too, Conan," sobbed Noah. "C'mon, let's go home."

"Uh, we are home," Conan pointed out. "Besides, I have a job to do, remember?"

"Oh, yes…sorry…By the way…about Henrietta…"

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry," said Conan sadly.

Noah sighed sadly as well. Conan decided to change the subject.

"By the way, brother…how did you get discharged?"

"Shot down during my first ever combat flight mission," Noah answered. "That's why my arms are burnt and I'm limping. He also gave me this." Noah showed his brother an eyepatch over his eye.

"Whoa! He gave you that patch?! For free?!" Thomas shouted. Conan wasn't impressed.

"Noah, slap me on the cheek," he said to his brother. "Don't ask questions, just do it."

Confused, Noah did so, which ended up hurting Thomas too.

"Ouch!" cried Thomas. "What'd you have him do that for?!"

"This isn't the time to joke, Thomas," said Conan sternly.

"Gee, somebody's a sourpuss today," grumbled Thomas.

"Uh, how is that tank engine able to feel pain from the slap I gave you?" Noah asked.

Conan then noticed some passengers were staring at him: in his attempt to get Thomas to stop joking, he had forgotten there would be people nearby.

"Uh…I'll tell you, just…not here," said Conan.

"Okay…?"

"Meet me at our house. Our grandparents will be happy to see you again."

"There'll be no need for that," said a familiar voice. The Fat Director stepped out of his office. "Everything can be explained in my office," he said, and turned to Thomas' driver. "Take Thomas back to the sheds until I can talk to him: I'll have Edward take over station pilot duties."

"Of course sir," said the driver, and he reversed Thomas away. The Fat Director led the siblings into his office. Noah listened intently as Conan explained everything, from how he had accidentally drunk black water to his bond with Thomas. If he was being honest, Noah was finding this all a lot to take in.

"Wow! All that from drinking black water?! I thought that stuff was fatal!"

"For engines, yes," Conan confirmed. "But we humans seem to be different. Can't really explain why that is."

"What else happened during my absence? Did you finally get married to that bitch?"

"Very funny. For your information, I do have a girlfriend, and it's not Rebecca. Her name is Jewelie and she also has a bond."

"Really?"

"Yes really, she also sells tickets here."

Both siblings walked out of the office, still talking.

"I'm surprised you got a girlfriend at last," said Noah. "Never thought any girl would be into you."

"Well, she helped me when I was feeling down," Conan replied. "That's how I first met her."

He told him about their first meeting, and everything up to his encounter with the murderer.

"So you say him, did you?" Noah asked when he finished.

"Not his face, he did sound familiar though," said Conan. "With help from a detective named Allistor, who's Fernby's brother by the way, we managed to get in contact with her father, who gave us two possible suspects: one is a possibly-dead son of our Duke, another is an ex-boyfriend."

Noah didn't say anything: he just looked down sadly.

"That was something highly stupid, brother," he said sternly, regaining his composure.

"I know, but it doesn't change the fact that I nearly got him. If he hadn't been armed…"

"Brother, you don't know what you are saying," Noah interrupted. "Armed or not, he still could've killed you. If he was able to kill Henrietta, who knows what else he has done? Didn't you say he shot you?"

"Only in the leg," scoffed Conan. "Terrible shot, if you ask me."

"What if you had been shot in the heart? You'd be dead! And you could've been, had Thomas and Jewelie not come for you!"

"Brother, I…"

"Don't give me that, Conan. You know I'm right."

No more was said of that subject.

The reunion he had with his grandparents was very touching, though as they hugged, Conan noticed Noah seemed to be upset about something. Suspecting it had to be the fact Henrietta was dead, he decided to give him some space until Noah approached him before dinner.

"I can tell something's upsetting you," Conan said. "Is it the fact Henrietta's dead?"

"Partially," Noah admitted. "While I'm mad you tried to confront him yourself, I do wish you got a look at his face: it would be nice to at least get closure, to know why he did it."

" You sure you don't want more?"

"Yes, no, maybe, I don't know!" Noah admitted. "I know this sounds insane, but if I ever find that bastard, I'll kill him with my bare hands. At least that's what I want to do: I thought everybody on the German side hated us, but one guy I shot, he willingly surrendered after I came up to him. To tell you the truth, brother, I'm not sure I want to be a killer anymore. I don't even know what I am anymore."

Silence fell for several long seconds, until Noah broke it himself.

"Definitely not a pilot, that's for sure," he said. "I'll need time to think, just promise to stick by me, no matter what."

"I promise, Noah," said Conan.

"Thanks, brother. I'm guessing you have a night shift?"

"Not really: another fireman is on hand to do that," Conan answered.

"I see…You and your girl have spent time together?"

"A lot," said Conan. "You better not be thinking what I think you're thinking."

Noah gave him a coy smile. Conan was half embarrassed and half furious. He punched Noah on the nose.

"You keep your hands off my girl, you dick!" he shouted.

"Ow! Gee, I was just joking, take it easy!"

"There are better things to joke about than stealing your brother's girlfriend!" Conan snapped.

"Sorry," said Noah, who didn't seem sorry at all. "Still, that wasn't the meaning of my joke."

"Then what was the meaning of your joke, huh?!"

Before Noah said anything, Conan realised the meaning of the joke himself, and went red. He quickly turned away, muttering something impossible to understand.

"You disgust me," he snarled.

"Aren't you overreacting? I was just joking," Noah repeated.

"Overreacting? How can you say I'm overreacting? At least Thomas doesn't make such jokes! You basically implied you wanted to bang her!"

"The joke was regarding if you'd done that. Now that I think of it, making jokes about someone's private life was quite…"

"Save it: apologising won't change a thing," said Conan.

"Hey, I didn't…"

"Shut up!" And Conan got up and walked off, leaving the house.

The boy ended up walking all the way to Jewelie's, two blocks away, deciding it was better to spend the night there.

"Trouble with your brother?"

"How did you know?" asked Conan.

"Um…just a hunch," she said. "Come in, there's plenty of room."

Conan proceeded to do so, with both seating down on Jewelie's bed.

"So, what happened with you brother?" Jewelie asked.

"He made a dirty joke when we got home, one about me and you," Conan admitted slowly.

"Aren't you being a hypocrite? We make those jokes all the time."

"That's different!" Conan insisted. "They never input anything about threesomes!"

Jewelie's eyes widened when she heard this.

"Ok, I'll admit, that may have been going too far, but come on! Are you sure he meant for you to make that interpretation?"

"What else is there to interpret?" Conan asked.

"Maybe he meant in regards to us?" Jewelie asked in response.

"In that case… Wh-What businesses does he have meddling in our private life? He should get his own!"

"Connie, he was just trying to reconnect with you," said Jewelie. "It has been two years since you last saw each other. You should give him a break."

"You may be right, Jewels. Maybe I am being too harsh on Noah. Next time I see him, I'll apologise to him."

"Excellent. But for now, care to join me for Dinner? Dad's cooking tonight, and you still owe me after that dining train fiasco."

"Not at all, Jewels: I'll gladly join you for dinner."

Their relationship worked like that: one would always be there for the other, especially when they were going through a difficult time.

Hours later, Noah stood alone on a rooftop, thinking. He had promised to keep going for Henrietta when he learned about her death, but now that he had been discharged, he couldn't. What was he supposed to do now? He still had Conan, that was true, but other than that, what else was there to live for?

"So many of my friends… lost to combat…my brother…growing up…Henrietta's dead…what else is left for me? How can I sleep, if it's all there each time I close my eyes? The bullets, the gas, and being inside that burning plane as it crashed…" He shuddered.

"I'm sorry, Henrietta," he sobbed. "I could've protected you had I stayed…I should've stayed…why didn't I?"

As his mind drifted, he looked down and noticed how high he was. Perhaps, maybe…but then again, that wouldn't be a good way to go out: it certainly wouldn't make Henrietta proud. If anything, she would be angry with him.

"Not until I find him. Not until then, at least," he said. "Afterwards…I don't know, but I'll find something. Maybe I'll get a job at the NWR as well: always wanted to be a driver before I got drafted. Then again, with the way my leg is…perhaps I should go for signalman instead."

"Perhaps you should," said a voice. Noah jumped, realising somebody was behind him. He slowly turned around. The figure he saw was covered from head to toe in a black robe. That was enough for Noah to know who he was: only a creep would completely cover up their own body.

"I should've known you'd come here," he said.

"Of course I would, I live here," the figure answered.

"I don't believe you," scoffed Noah. "This house has been abandoned since Queen Victoria died."

"And who said it hasn't been purchased?" asked the figure. "Yes, that's right: I'm the houseowner. And as far as I'm concerned, you're trespassing, which means…" He pulled a knife out of his robe. "I have every legal right to kill you right here, right now."

"Like you did to Henrietta, and like you tried to do to my brother?" Noah growled, standing up. "Yes, I know it was you who did it: he told me everything."

"I should've shot that brat dead in the eye," said the figure. "No matter: I'll get you instead. She was supposed to be with me, not you. I have more…" Noah punched him before he could finish. Having anticipated this, the figure made sure his knife sliced into Noah's arm before falling onto the ground.

"Bastard. I'll kill you, I swear!" Noah prepared to stomp on his face, but the figure rolled out of the way before the foot made impact. He then jabbed the knife into Noah's foot. Knowing this would distract Noah, the figure then made his escape, as Noah screamed in pain. Sure enough, he was already gone by the time Noah managed to pull out the knife.

"That's gonna leave a mark," remarked Noah.

Things weren't rosy for him, but he knew he had to fight through the pain: the murderer was still out there. He took off his shirt and ripped the sleeves off, wrapping them around the wounded foot. He then put his shirt back on, and slowly, he began to walk, ready to strike the killer when he next saw him.

"That voice," he thought, "sounds familiar. I think I know who that is…now I can help the police make sure."

Noah had put on gloves before pulling on the knife. This was not to make it easier to grip, but to make sure his fingerprints didn't get on it, therefore, getting mixed up with those of the murderer. Noah wasn't sure what to do: he couldn't catch the figure now, but the figure could easily ambush him if he tried to go back down the same way he came in. He stood, wondering what he should do: it was definitely too high to jump down.

"I'll risk it. If he's hiding in the halls, then I'll tear his head off…"

Unbeknownst to him, the figure had already left the house, but he was still watching.

"I'll be waiting, old friend. I have a feeling you know who I really am. Well, Noah, you and Henrietta will soon be together… In hell."