A stranger wrote that I had finally received what I deserved.

Silas did not ask me to defend myself.

He heated soup, cut bread, and told me where the spare blankets were stored.

We ate across a small pine table while the forest darkened outside.

“I need my files from the company,” I said.

“Supplier reports, production calendars, records of the work I did.

I can’t prove anything without them.”

“Are they yours?”