My father was standing twenty yards away by the hotel garden, holding Noah high on his shoulder while Noah reached his small hands toward the colorful leaves on a dwarf maple tree.

Ethan stopped beside a parked sedan, his shoulders pulled tight inside his jacket.

“She spent three hours on her tablet last night after you left.”

“Doing what?” I asked.

“Searching your dad’s name,” Ethan said.

“She spent the whole evening pulling up news articles and official government records.”

“What did she find?”

“His military biography,” Ethan said quietly.