Liam
The letter comes on a Tuesday, in a plain white envelope, no return address, my name written in handwriting I have not seen in two years. I stand in the doorway of my apartment, the envelope in my hand, my heart pounding, my mind racing, and I know who it is from before I open it, before I read the words, before I let the past come crashing back into the life I have been building.
Zoe is in the kitchen, making coffee, humming a song I do not recognize, and I do not want to ruin this, do not want to bring the darkness back into the light, but I cannot hide from this, cannot pretend that the past does not exist, cannot pretend that the man who killed my father does not still have a voice.
I open the envelope, and I read the words, and my hands shake, and my chest tightens, and I feel the anger rise, the same anger I thought I had buried, the same rage I thought I had let go.
Liam, I know you think you have won, but you have not. The network is gone, but I am still here. I want to meet you. I want to tell you the truth about your father. Come alone. I will send the address.
Victor Kane, the man who gave us the flash drive, the man who said he wanted to do one right thing before he died. He is supposed to be gone, disappeared, living a new life somewhere far from here. But he is not gone. He is here, and he wants to meet, and he says he knows the truth about my father, and I do not know if I believe him, do not know if I trust him, do not know if I can walk away from the chance to know everything.
Zoe comes out of the kitchen, two cups of coffee in her hands, and she sees my face, sees the letter, sees the fear and the anger and the confusion, and she sets the cups down and she walks toward me, and she takes my hands, and she looks at me with her grey eyes, steady and calm.
"What is it?" she asks, and her voice is soft, and I want to lie to her, want to protect her, want to keep her out of this, but I cannot, because she is my partner, my future, my everything, and I do not keep secrets from her anymore.
"Victor Kane," I say, and I hand her the letter, and I watch her read it, watch her face change, watch the fear flicker in her eyes. "He wants to meet. He says he knows the truth about my father."
She looks up at me, and I see the steel in her eyes, the same steel that has been there since the moment I met her, the same steel that made me fall in love with her. "Then we go," she says, and her voice is steady, certain, the voice of a woman who has faced worse and survived. "We go together, and we find out what he knows, and then we come home and we never think about him again."
I want to argue, want to tell her to stay, want to protect her from whatever darkness Victor is bringing. But I know she will not stay, know that she will follow me, know that she will stand beside me no matter what, because that is who she is, who she has always been, who she will always be.
The address Victor sends is an old warehouse on the edge of the city, the same kind of place where Evelyn used to meet her contacts, the same kind of place where people go to hide from the light. I park the car across the street, and I sit for a moment, my hands on the wheel, my heart pounding, my mind racing through all the ways this could go wrong.
Zoe reaches over and she takes my hand, and I feel the warmth of her, the strength of her, the promise that she is not going to let me fall. "We do this together," she says, and her voice is soft, steady, the voice of a woman who has already decided how this ends. "We walk in, we listen, we walk out. And then we go home and we plan our wedding and we never look back."
I nod, and I open the door, and we walk across the street, through the shadows, into the warehouse where Victor Kane is waiting. He is sitting on a crate, his hands in his lap, his face pale and thin, his eyes tired and old. He looks up when we walk in, and I see the relief in his face, the same relief I felt when I saw Zoe walk out of Evelyn's meeting, the relief of someone who has been carrying a weight and is finally ready to put it down.
"You came," he says, and his voice is weak, thin, the voice of a man who is dying, who knows he is dying, who has made peace with it. "I did not think you would."
"You said you knew the truth about my father," I say, and my voice is cold, the way it used to be, the way I do not want it to be anymore. "Tell me. And then we are done."
Victor looks at me, and I see the tears in his eyes, the same tears I have seen in my own reflection, the tears of a man who has lost too much and is afraid of losing more. "Your father did not die because of the network," he says, and his voice is barely a whisper, and I feel the world tilt, feel the ground shift beneath my feet. "He died because he was protecting you."