The final confirmation comes in the shape of a hidden file, a false-bottomed drawer, a false life. Derek’s private study is full of shadows, of secrets, of quiet deceit. The storm drums against the windows like a warning, like an omen, like the edges of what I know to be true. I begin my search with a hunter’s patience, with a hunter’s eye, with a hunter’s instincts. The shadows of the room cannot hide what he’s done, what they’ve done, what they’ve planned, what I can see, what I can finally see. It is an elaborate scheme, and my discovery of it is elaborate in kind.
I know the stakes, the risk, the threat, but I push it aside, push it deep. My focus is a blade, and it cuts through everything I touch. The drawer is unsteady against my hands, but I steady it, steady it like my pulse, lik
