That afternoon, Miles took me upstairs to the room he'd been using while the inn was being cleared. He had stacked boxes against one wall and lined his schoolbooks along the windowsill. A small desk stood beneath the window, covered with pens, loose paper, and a mug full of coins.
"I wanted to show you something," he said.
He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a flat envelope. My name was written across the front in my father's handwriting. The paper had yellowed at the edges.
I didn't take it from him.
"Where did you find this?"
"Behind the drawer in the office desk. It must have slid down the back."
"Did you read it?"
"No."
"How long have you had it?"
"Since last night. I thought you'd want it."
I looked at the envelope again. My name sat there as if it had been waiting fo
