my name. I had water in my lungs and a fever that lasted a month. By the time I remembered anything, years had passed. And the woman who fostered me—who raised me—told me never to look for the Raldis. She said the newspapers called them butchers. She said if I went back to that world, whoever blew up that boathouse would finish the job.
She looked at the locket in his hand.
So I stayed nobody. I took a cleaning job at the docks because… because sometimes I’d see your car pull through the gate. And I’d look at your face through the tinted glass and wonder if the boy with the black eye was still in there, or if he’d died in the fire too.
Vincent closed the distance.
His hands, steady through negotiations that swayed millions and interrogations that broke hardened men, shook uncontrollably as he reached out.
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