I kept the public photographs that were relevant to the timing and his account of the trip.

I did not need to know the woman’s hotel room, private passwords, or every conversation on the ship to understand that I needed to act.

I needed enough reliable information to stop making decisions from hope alone.

One evening, Marcus called unexpectedly.

I stood in the kitchen and watched his name on the screen before answering.

“How are things?” he asked.

The casualness of it almost made me laugh.