For several seconds, no one moved.
The elevator doors waited behind Lily, their polished metal reflecting the white hospital lights and the pale, frightened faces gathered in front of them.
Lily held up her phone.
The message remained on the screen.
YOU WERE NEVER TOLD WHEN ANNA WALKER REALLY DIED.
Vincent stared at the words as though they had reached through nineteen years and placed a hand around his throat.
I looked at him.
“What does it mean?”
He did not answer.
The nurse standing behind Lily shifted uneasily.
“Mr. Walker, your daughter should be in bed.”
Lily shook her head.
“She needs rest,” the nurse continued. “Especially after surgery.”
Lily typed quickly and held the phone toward her.
I NEED THE TRUTH MORE.
The nurse read it, then looked at me.
There was no accusation in her expression, only concern.
That somehow made it worse.
“I’ll take her back,” I said.
Lily locked the wheels of the chair before I could touch it.
Her eyes stayed on Vincent.
He looked older than he had ten minutes earlier.
“Lily,” he said quietly, “this isn’t the place.”
She typed:
THEN WHERE?
Vincent glanced at Evelyn.
The attorney closed her briefcase.
“Somewhere private,” she said. “And not the abandoned building from that message.”
Lily’s eyebrows rose.
“She knows about the address,” I said.
Evelyn nodded toward Lily’s phone. “At this point, whoever is contacting her appears to know where all of you are and what you’re discussing. We should assume the hospital is not secure.”
The nurse folded her arms.
“You are not removing a patient without medical approval.”
“No one is suggesting that,” Evelyn said. “Is there a family consultation room on this floor?”
The nurse hesitated, then nodded.
“Down the hall.”
“Please ask the doctor whether Lily can sit there for twenty minutes.”
Lily typed:
AN HOUR.
The nurse almost smiled.
“Twenty minutes,” she repeated.
Lily considered this, then unlocked the chair.
I reached for the handles.
She stopped me with a look.
The nurse pushed instead.
It was a small refusal, almost invisible to everyone else.
To me, it felt enormous.
The consultation room had beige walls, a box of tissues, and a window overlooking the parking garage.
The nurse helped Lily settle beside the table and warned us that any increase in pain or dizziness would end the conversation immediately.
When she left, Evelyn placed Lily’s phone in the center of the table.
“No one responds to the messages,” she said. “Not until we know more.”
Lily typed on the tablet the nurse had brought.
THEY KNOW MORE THAN WE DO.
“They may,” Evelyn replied. “That does not make them trustworthy.”
Lily looked at Vincent.
Neither did he, apparently.
Vincent lowered himself into a chair.
I remained standing.
“Start with Anna,” I said.
His hands rested on the table, palms down.
“Daniel—”
“Start.”
Lily flinched at the sharpness in my voice.
I saw it.
I closed my eyes and forced the anger back into its cage.
When I spoke again, my voice was quieter.
“Please.”
Vincent looked at Lily.
“Your mother was one of the smartest people I ever knew.”
Lily’s eyes did not soften.
“She studied mathematics,” he continued. “Not accounting, as your father told you. She could look at a network of companies, transactions, and people and understand where pressure would break the whole system.”
“She helped build it,” I said.
Vincent nodded.
“Yes.”
My memories of Anna arrived in fragments.
Her feet tucked beneath her on the sofa while she reviewed ledgers.
The dark pencil she wore behind one ear.
The way she could silence a room by noticing one number that did not belong.
I had told myself she handled the books because that sounded smaller than the truth.
The truth was that she had designed much of the structure that protected me.
The companies.
The coded accounts.
The hidden loyalties.
Even my invisibility.
I had been called the Ghost because Anna had taught me how to leave no shadow.
Lily typed:
DID SHE WANT THAT LIFE?
Vincent looked at me.
I sat across from my daughter.
“At first, yes,” I said. “We both did.”
I hated admitting it.
Not because I feared Lily’s judgment, but because I could no longer hide behind the lie that Anna had simply been drawn into my world.
“She believed powerful men were protected because they understood systems,” I continued. “She wanted to understand those systems better than they did.”
“Eventually,” Vincent said, “she wanted out.”
Lily looked at me.
I nodded.
“She asked me to leave before you were born.”
DID YOU REFUSE?
“I delayed.”
Her eyes sharpened.
I could have explained that leaving had been dangerous. That rivals watched weakness. That federal investigators were closing in. That hundreds of people depended on decisions I made.
All of those things were true.
None of them changed the answer.
“Yes,” I said. “I refused.”
The pain in her face was quiet.
It was not the pain of a broken jaw.
It was the pain of realizing that parents could love each other deeply and still fail each other.
Vincent leaned forward.
“Anna did not wait for Daniel’s permission. She began building an exit on her own.”
I turned toward him.
“You never told me that.”
“You never asked what she did during the final year.”
“I thought she was preparing our documents.”
“She was preparing more than that.”
He removed a small black key from inside his coat and placed it on the table.
It was old-fashioned, made of brass, with the number 317 engraved along the stem.
Lily stared at it.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Something Anna gave me three weeks before the accident.”
My hand moved toward the key.
Vincent covered it with his own.
“She told me not to give it to you.”
My voice hardened. “Why?”
“Because she believed you would use whatever was behind it to protect her.”
“That was my responsibility.”
“No. That was the problem.”
Lily watched both of us.
Vincent withdrew his hand.
“She said you protected people by taking away their choices.”
The words landed without force, yet they struck harder than any accusation shouted across a room.
I looked at Lily.
She looked down.
Only hours earlier, she had told me the same thing.
You always decide.
I sank back in the chair.
“What does the key open?”
“A box at the old central train station.”
“That station closed years ago.”
“The private lockers beneath it still exist. A storage company leases the lower level.”
“You kept this for nineteen years?”
“I was instructed to.”
“By a woman you believed was dead?”
Vincent’s silence changed the room.
Evelyn, who had been listening without interruption, spoke for the first time.
“You did not believe she died in the accident.”
Vincent looked toward the window.
“No.”
The word was barely audible.
Lily’s hand froze above the tablet.
I stood so quickly that my chair struck the wall.
“You identified her body.”
“No.”
“You told me you did.”
“I said the authorities had identified her.”
“You stood beside me at the funeral.”
“I stood beside you because you had a six-month-old daughter in your arms and could barely remain upright.”
I could hear my own breathing.
“You let me bury her.”
Vincent’s face tightened.
“I let you bury a closed coffin.”
The consultation room became unbearably small.
Images returned with cruel clarity.
Rain falling on black umbrellas.
A minister speaking words I did not hear.
Lily sleeping against my chest.
My hand resting on the polished wood of the coffin as it descended.
I had never seen Anna’s face.
The accident had caused a fire. That was what I had been told.
Identification had been made through jewelry, dental records, and a blood sample.
Evidence I had accepted because grief made certainty irresistible.
Lily typed:
WHO WAS IN THE COFFIN?
“No one knows,” Vincent said.
I crossed the room and pressed my palm to the window.
Below us, cars moved through the garage entrance. Ordinary people arrived and departed, unaware that the dead could become uncertain in a room six floors above them.
“What happened that night?” Evelyn asked.
Vincent drew a slow breath.
“Anna drove away from the harbor office shortly after nine. At ten twelve, a car registered in her name left the road near Bellwater Bridge. It struck the barrier and caught fire.”
“Was anyone seen inside?” Evelyn asked.
“A witness reported one driver.”
“Reported?”
“The witness disappeared before the hearing.”
I turned.
“Who investigated?”
“Federal agents, state police, and two private teams.”
“Mine?”
Vincent nodded.
“And nobody found a body?”
“Remains were recovered. But the identification process was controlled by a medical examiner who retired three days later.”
A pattern revealed itself beneath the story.
Sealed records.
Missing witnesses.
People who retired, transferred, or vanished.
Not chaos.
Design.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“Because Anna left instructions.”
“You keep saying that as if instructions are sacred.”
“To me, hers were.”
“And mine weren’t?”
Vincent looked at me with something close to sorrow.
“Yours were orders.”
The distinction silenced me.
He turned to Lily.
“Your mother believed someone inside the organization had discovered her exit plan. She thought that if Daniel knew she might be alive, he would tear the coast apart looking for her.”
“He would have,” Lily typed.
“Yes.”
Vincent looked at me.
“And anyone watching him would have known exactly what mattered.”
My anger weakened beneath the logic.
Anna had understood me.
Perhaps better than I understood myself.
Lily typed:
DID SHE LEAVE ME?
Vincent’s composure broke.
Only slightly.
His eyes lowered, and his fingers tightened around the key.
“No,” he said. “I do not believe she did.”
THEN WHY DIDN’T SHE COME BACK?
“I don’t know.”
The answer sounded honest.
That made it harder.
Lily stared at the table.
Her shoulders began to shake.
I moved toward her, then stopped.
I waited.
A father should know when to hold his child.
I had never learned that a father must also know when to ask.
“May I sit with you?” I said.
She looked up.
Tears shone beneath the bruising around her eyes.
She nodded.
I pulled my chair beside hers, careful not to touch her until she reached for my hand.
Her fingers closed around mine.
The grip was weak.
It was also deliberate.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
She looked at me.
“For everything I kept from you. For making decisions because I was afraid of what the truth might cost.”
She typed with one hand.
ARE YOU STILL AFRAID?
“Yes.”
OF WHAT?
“Losing you.”
Her expression changed.
The anger remained. So did the hurt.
But beneath both was the child who had once waited at the front window whenever I returned from a business trip, certain I would appear because I always had before.
She typed:
THEN STOP LEAVING ME OUT.
I nodded.
“No more secrets.”
Vincent looked away.
Evelyn did not.
“Be careful with promises made during trauma,” she said gently. “No family can live without privacy. What Lily needs is not access to every thought you have. She needs honesty about the truths that shape her life.”
Lily considered this.
Then she typed:
NO MORE IMPORTANT SECRETS.
I looked at her.
“No more important secrets.”
The emotional distance between us did not disappear.
Trust did not return simply because it was requested.
But something shifted.
For the first time since the attack, we were not standing on opposite sides of my silence.
The doctor allowed Lily another fifteen minutes.
Evelyn used them to establish rules.
No one would visit the abandoned faculty residence.
No one would contact Ethan, Brandon, Tyler, or their families.
She would petition the court to preserve university records and request an independent investigation into the police interference.
Vincent would take the key to the station locker, but he would not open it alone.
“We all go,” I said.
“Lily is not leaving the hospital,” Evelyn replied.
Lily typed:
VIDEO CALL.
Evelyn thought for a moment.
“That can be arranged.”
“You trust Vincent with the key?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “That is why I’m going with him.”
Vincent gave her a tired look.
“You really don’t like me.”
“I don’t know you well enough.”
“You’ve heard the worst.”
“I doubt that.”
For the first time, Lily smiled.
It was small and painful, but unmistakable.
The sight steadied me.
Evelyn gathered the phones.
“We should also consider that the messages may be designed to divide you,” she said. “One message for Daniel. Another for Lily. Whoever is sending them knows which wounds to touch.”
“Maya may still be sending them,” Lily typed.
“Perhaps,” Evelyn said. “But the photo does not prove she controls the phone.”
Lily opened the picture again.
Maya sat beside the window, one hand resting on the table.
She wore a gray sweater and looked directly at the camera. The newspaper confirmed the date, yet something in her posture seemed unnatural.
Lily zoomed in.
Her eyes narrowed.
She pointed to Maya’s hand.
There was dark ink along the side of her index finger.
I saw only a smudge.
Lily began typing.
MAYA WRITES NOTES ON HER HAND.
She enlarged the photograph until the pixels blurred.
Three short marks appeared near Maya’s knuckle.
“What do they mean?” I asked.
Lily typed:
NUMBERS.
Vincent leaned closer.
“Can you read them?”
Lily shook her head.
Evelyn photographed the screen with her own phone.
“I’ll have the image enhanced.”
Lily kept staring.
Then she tapped the table three times.
Slow.
Slow.
Quick.
She typed:
SHE USED TO DO THIS IN CLASS.
“What is it?” I asked.
A CODE.
Vincent looked at me.
“Morse?”
Lily shook her head.
SHE MADE IT.
“Why?”
FOR NOTES WHEN PROFESSOR WATCHED.
She studied Maya’s fingers in the image.
Then she tapped the pattern again.
Two slow. One quick.
She typed:
LOOK BELOW.
We all looked beneath Maya’s hand.
The newspaper rested on a wooden table. At first, there seemed to be nothing unusual.
Then Vincent noticed the reflection.
A narrow strip of glass ran along the table’s edge.
In it, barely visible, was the lower half of a window behind the photographer.
Beyond that window stood a red brick tower.
“I know that building,” I said.
Evelyn looked at me.
“The old waterworks near the river.”
Vincent shook his head.
“The waterworks tower has a clock.”
“Not on the north side.”
He studied the image again.
“You’re right.”
Evelyn immediately called Detective Ruiz.
When Ruiz answered, Evelyn identified herself and explained the photograph without mentioning the train station key.
Ruiz listened.
“I’m suspended,” she said.
“You’re also a witness to interference in an active case.”
“That won’t get me a warrant.”
“Can you notify someone who can?”
A pause.
“I know an assistant federal prosecutor who might listen.”
“Send the image. Tell her a missing student may be in danger.”
Ruiz agreed.
After the call, Lily typed:
WHAT IF THEY MOVE HER?
“They may,” Evelyn said. “But entering without authority could make things worse.”
Lily’s frustration showed in the quick movement of her hands.
EVERYONE KEEPS WAITING.
I understood.
She had trusted offices, procedures, and adults who promised to act.
Maya disappeared.
Lily was attacked.
The boys who confronted her remained protected by statements and silence.
“Waiting is not the same as doing nothing,” I said.
Her eyes moved to me.
I almost laughed at the irony.
For most of my life, waiting had felt like weakness. Now I was asking my daughter to believe it could be courage.
“People like the ones behind this count on us making mistakes,” I continued. “They want fear to hurry us. Anger too.”
Lily typed:
YOU SOUND LIKE VINCENT.
“He’s becoming irritatingly wise.”
Vincent raised one eyebrow.
“It happens with age.”
The nurse opened the door.
“Time.”
Lily did not argue.
As I helped turn the wheelchair, she placed the brass key in my hand.
I looked at her.
She typed:
DON’T OPEN IT WITHOUT ME.
“I won’t.”
PROMISE?
I closed my fingers around the key.
“I promise.”
Two hours later, Vincent and Evelyn drove to the old central station.
I remained beside Lily.
We watched through a secure video call on Evelyn’s phone.
The station had once been the heart of the city. Now its marble halls stood behind construction fencing, abandoned ticket windows gathering dust beneath faded departure boards.
Vincent and Evelyn entered through a side door with a representative from the storage company and a private investigator Evelyn trusted.
The lower level was colder than the main concourse.
Rows of steel lockers stretched beneath the building.
“Three seventeen,” Lily typed.
Evelyn held up the phone so we could see.
Locker 317 was narrower than I expected.
Its brass lock matched the key.
Vincent inserted it but did not turn.
He looked into the camera.
“Ready?”
Lily nodded.
I placed my hand over hers.
Vincent turned the key.
The lock opened with a dull click.
Inside was a blue canvas bag.
Nothing else.
The private investigator checked the surrounding area before Evelyn lifted the bag onto a metal table.
She unfastened the buckles.
Inside were three objects.
A sealed envelope.
A cassette tape.
And a child’s knitted yellow sweater.
Lily leaned toward the screen.
The sweater was tiny, made for an infant.
One sleeve had been repaired with green thread.
I recognized it immediately.
Anna had knitted it during the final months of her pregnancy. She had never been good with needles, and one sleeve came out shorter than the other. She laughed and said Lily would simply have to grow unevenly.
I had not seen it since the accident.
My throat closed.
Lily touched the screen.
Evelyn picked up the envelope.
Written across the front were two names.
DANIEL AND LILY.
“Open it,” I said.
Lily shook her head.
I turned toward her.
She typed:
TOGETHER.
“We are together.”
She looked around the hospital room.
Not here.
I understood.
The letter had waited nineteen years.
It could wait until she was home.
“What about the tape?” Vincent asked.
Lily pointed toward it.
A small label had been affixed to the plastic case.
PLAY FIRST.
Evelyn found an old cassette player in the station manager’s office. The storage representative brought fresh batteries.
They placed the player on the table.
Vincent inserted the tape.
Static whispered through the speaker.
Then Anna’s voice filled the hospital room.
“Daniel.”
I stopped breathing.
Nineteen years disappeared.
She sounded exactly as I remembered.
Calm, warm, and always one step ahead of everyone else.
“If you are hearing this, then something has gone wrong.”
Lily gripped my hand.
Anna continued.
“I hope Lily is with you. If she is, my darling girl, I am sorry that my voice reaches you from a machine instead of across a kitchen table.”
Lily’s face crumpled.
I moved closer.
“I have tried to build you a life untouched by our mistakes,” Anna said. “But protecting someone and hiding the truth from them are not always the same thing. I learned that too late.”
I looked down.
The words felt addressed to me as much as to her.
“There are people inside our organization who have begun using Daniel’s name without his knowledge. They are making arrangements with universities, research foundations, construction firms, and public officials. They do not want money alone. They want permanence.”
Vincent’s face tightened on the video screen.
Anna’s voice continued.
“I believe these people call their project Bellweather.”
Lily looked at me.
The club had existed before its current students.
Before Ethan, Brandon, and Tyler were born.
“They recruit through families,” Anna explained. “One generation protects the next. A place at a university. A sealed complaint. A contract awarded quietly. A witness encouraged to forget.”
The tape clicked softly.
“I tried to trace the center of it. I failed.”
Her voice lowered.
“But I discovered that someone close to us was helping them.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
I stared at his image on the screen.
Anna continued.
“Daniel, your first instinct will be to suspect everyone. Do not. Suspicion can become another kind of blindness.”
A faint sound came from the recording, perhaps a door opening in the room where she had spoken.
She paused.
Then said, “I am leaving evidence in pieces. No one person will have enough to expose the whole system. Vincent will hold one key. Samuel Price will hold another. The rest will remain where no one would think to search.”
Lily began typing.
FLASH DRIVE?
“Maybe,” I whispered.
Anna’s voice softened.
“If I disappear, do not search for me.”
My grip tightened around Lily’s fingers.
“I know you, Daniel. You will hear that sentence as a challenge. It is not. It is the last request of the woman who loved you.”
I covered my mouth with my free hand.
Lily leaned against my shoulder.
“You gave me a life larger than the one I imagined,” Anna said. “You also frightened me with how much of yourself you were willing to destroy for the people you loved.”
Her next words were almost tender.
“Please learn that love does not always require destruction.”
The tape hissed.
“For Lily, choose patience. Choose truth. Choose the man you might still become.”
The recording ended.
No one spoke.
In the hospital room, the heart monitor kept time.
Across the city, beneath the old station, Vincent stood with one hand braced against the metal table.
Evelyn reached for the cassette player.
Then a second voice emerged from the tape.
Faint.
Distant.
A man speaking in the room after Anna had apparently walked away.
“She recorded everything.”
Another man answered.
“Let her.”
The first voice sounded nervous.
“What if Walker hears it?”
“He won’t.”
The tape crackled.
Then came the final sentence.
“The accident is tomorrow.”
The recording stopped.
Vincent turned white.
I rose from Lily’s bed.
“Play it again.”
Evelyn rewound the final section.
The voices repeated.
She played them a third time.
Lily watched Vincent.
He would not meet the camera.
“You recognize them,” I said.
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“I recognize one.”
The hospital room seemed suddenly cold.
“Who?”
Vincent looked toward Evelyn, then into the camera.
“The first man was Samuel Price.”
“And the second?”
He shook his head slowly.
“I don’t know his name.”
“But you know him.”
Vincent’s mouth tightened.
“I heard that voice once before.”
“When?”
“The night Anna died.”
By dawn, Maya had been found.
The assistant federal prosecutor contacted by Detective Ruiz sent agents to the old waterworks. They discovered Maya inside a caretaker’s apartment on the property.
She was alone.
The door had not been locked.
A prepaid phone lay on the table beside her, but she claimed it was not hers.
She had been brought there two days earlier by a woman who promised to protect her from the Bellweather network. Maya never saw the woman’s face clearly. She wore a hooded coat, large glasses, and gloves.
The woman brought food, explained that Lily had been injured, and told Maya the hospital was being watched.
“Did she hurt you?” the agent asked during the recorded interview.
“No,” Maya answered. “She was kind.”
“Why didn’t you leave?”
“She said the people looking for the drive would follow me.”
“Did you believe her?”
Maya hesitated.
“She knew things no one else knew.”
“What things?”
Maya looked toward the camera.
“She knew what Lily’s mother used to call her before she was born.”
Beside me, Lily stopped breathing.
The agent asked, “What was it?”
Maya lowered her voice.
“Little Star.”
Lily’s hand flew to her mouth.
I had never used that name.
Anna wrote it in letters during the pregnancy, always in Italian.
Piccola Stella.
Only Anna, Vincent, and I had known.
The agent continued.
“Did the woman identify herself?”
“No.”
“Did she give you the flash drive?”
Maya shook her head.
“She said Lily already had it.”
Lily looked at me.
“Do you?” I asked.
She typed:
I DON’T KNOW.
“Maya said she gave it to you.”
Lily closed her eyes, trying to remember.
Then she reached slowly toward the silver necklace resting on the bedside table.
I had bought it for her eighteenth birthday.
A small oval locket hung from the chain.
She turned it over.
Along the edge was a seam I had never noticed.
Lily pressed her thumbnail against it.
The back opened.
Inside was a thin black memory card.
We stared at it.
Lily typed:
MAYA FIXED THE CLASP LAST MONTH.
The drive had been with her throughout the attack.
Throughout the hospital interviews.
Perhaps throughout every conversation.
Evelyn, still at the station, spoke through the phone.
“Do not insert it into anything.”
“I know,” Vincent said.
“I was speaking to Daniel.”
Lily almost smiled again.
A knock sounded at the hospital door.
Detective Ruiz entered in plain clothes.
“I’m not officially here,” she said.
She carried a paper file.
“Then why are you?” I asked.
“Because I searched the Bellwater accident records before my credentials were suspended.”
She placed the file on the table.
“I found the original laboratory report.”
Vincent’s face appeared over the phone.
“That report was destroyed.”
“A copy was misfiled under the bridge inspection records.”
Ruiz opened the folder.
“The remains recovered from the car were identified as Anna Walker using a comparison sample supplied by Meridian Harbor Services.”
I looked at Vincent.
He shook his head.
“I never supplied one.”
Ruiz slid a page toward me.
“The sample was labeled as blood taken during an employee health examination.”
“Anna never had an examination.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Ruiz pointed to a handwritten notation at the bottom.
“The blood type did not match the woman in the vehicle.”
Lily stared at the page.
“Then who died?” I asked.
“We don’t know yet,” Ruiz said. “But someone altered the final report.”
She turned to the last sheet.
“I also found the signature authorizing the identification.”
My eyes moved to the name.
Dr. Adrian Kessler.
The same professor whose laboratory Maya had investigated.
The same laboratory connected to missing money, hidden accounts, and the Bellweather Club.
Ruiz looked at Lily.
“Kessler was not yet a university professor at the time. He worked for the county medical examiner.”
My phone vibrated.
Another message had arrived.
There was no photograph this time.
Only a voice recording.
Evelyn told me not to open it.
Lily placed her hand over mine.
“Together?” I asked.
She nodded.
I pressed play.
For two seconds, there was only silence.
Then a woman spoke.
Her voice was older than the one on the cassette.
Softer.
Tired.
But unmistakable.
“Daniel,” she said, “you finally learned to wait.”
My knees weakened.
Lily gripped my arm.
The recording continued.
“I am sorry for the years I let you believe I was gone. I am more sorry for the years Lily grew without knowing that I watched from a distance.”
Lily began to cry.
I stared at the phone.
“Do not come looking for me yet,” the woman said. “Bellweather knows the locker has been opened. They know Maya was found. And now they know Lily has the final piece.”
Her voice trembled.
For the first time, Anna sounded afraid.
“The memory card does not contain evidence against the network.”
A pause followed.
“It contains the name of the person who created it.”
The recording ended.
Below the audio file appeared a final line of text.
ASK VINCENT WHY HIS NAME IS ON THE FIRST PAGE.
Lily slowly lifted her eyes toward the video call.
On the screen, Vincent stood motionless beside the open locker.
The yellow sweater remained on the table before him.
His face showed no surprise.
Only grief.
“Vincent,” I said.
He looked directly into the camera.
“I hoped she had removed that page.”
Lily typed with shaking fingers.
WHY WOULD YOUR NAME BE THERE?
Vincent glanced toward the shadows at the end of the station corridor.
Then he said the words that changed everything we believed about Bellweather.
“Because Anna and I created it together.”
The video call went black.
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