That was the real cost of it — not the money his mother stole, but the years his own cowardice let slip past, unrecoverable, while the truth sat patiently on his phone waiting for a courage he could not, for four long years, find.

Until that gray morning at the terminal.

Chapter 11 — Following Her

After taking the plate of food, Marlowe sat on a bench under the awning — but she didn’t eat.

She wrapped a piece of bread carefully, slid it into a small child’s backpack, and started off toward the quiet streets behind the old rail yard.

Desmond handed his ladle to another volunteer and followed at a distance.