PTE

m of an old song-slow, wistful

returning to

as coincidence. That he liked the quiet. That the air

't the air.

ds. The girl who didn't care about his surname. The gir

hasing. Maybe redemption. Ma

chasing anything.

ped tone, eyes avoiding his. He tried asking questions once: about Savannah, abou

ill, h

ll, she

n't unsee the way he moved-calm, almost unsure, like som

l. Hated that he didn't match the monster in her memories. And most of all, s

earts are

venge

e bookstore was empty. Nattie stood by the window, wa

oor c

n, his coat soake

open," he said, brushin

look at him

a book without reading the titl

d of

sil

him. For a moment, her face soft

silence. It te

pped. "And what tru

she said simply. "But I

wer. Because

se people like him didn't end up in places like this unless they were hidin

her family records, every scrap of history. He stared at an old image-a newspaper clipping of

in, narrow

e Smith than her bookst

is fingers

out the truth?" his

t. Not until I want her to. And

message to a co

Make it believab

old journal open on her lap. Her father's handwriting

ness. But business doesn

he words wit

ays believed. Not because she forgave the Sanchez name. But because

the peace he'

t was d

made you forge