Liam
The phone call comes in the middle of the night, and I reach for it before it wakes Zoe, my heart pounding, my mind racing through all the things that could go wrong. The voice on the other end is familiar, cold, controlled, the voice of a man I thought I would never hear again.
"Mr. Cole," he says, and I feel the anger rise, the same anger I thought I had buried. "I am sorry to disturb you at this hour. My name is Agent Miller. I am with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We need to speak with you about Victor Kane."
I slip out of bed and walk to the living room, my bare feet cold on the floor, my chest tight, my hands shaking. "What about him?" I ask, and my voice is low, steady, the way it used to be, the way I do not want it to be anymore.
"He escaped from custody three hours ago," Agent Miller says, and I feel the world tilt, feel the ground shift beneath my feet. "He left a message for you. He said he wants to meet. He said he has information about your father that he did not share before. He said if you do not come, he will find another way to get your attention."
I close my eyes, and I think about Victor, about the man who gave us the flash drive, about the man who told us the truth about my father's death, about the man who said he wanted to do one right thing before he died. I thought he was done, thought he had disappeared, thought he was living a new life somewhere far from here. But he is not done. He is here, and he is dangerous, and he wants something from me.
"Where?" I ask, and my voice is flat, empty, the voice of a man who has been here before, who has fought this war before, who is tired of fighting.
Agent Miller gives me an address, 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 write it down, and I hang up the phone, and I stand in the dark, and I feel the weight of the past pressing down on my chest, the same weight I thought I had put down.
Zoe is standing in the doorway, her hair messy, her eyes sleepy, her face worried. "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 wife, my partner, my everything, and I do not keep secrets from her anymore.
"Victor escaped," I say, and I watch her face change, the fear flickering in her eyes, the same fear I feel in my chest. "He wants to meet. He says he has information about my father."
She walks toward me, and she takes my hands, and she looks at me with her grey eyes, steady and calm. "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.
We drive to the warehouse in silence, the city dark around us, the streets empty, the only light the headlights cutting through the shadows. 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 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 standing in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets, 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 had information," 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."