The first light of dawn crept over the Chicago skyline, painting the buildings in shades of gold and pink. George stood at the window of his apartment, watching the city wake up. It had been three weeks since his last press conference, three weeks since he'd revealed the truth about Michael Whitfield's murder. The silence that followed had been strange, almost unsettling after years of constant revelations and chaos.
He'd spent the night going through the journal again, reading and rereading the entries. There was something about them that bothered him. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. A name, a date, a detail that didn't quite fit.
Sam found him there, her footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. She placed a cup of coffee in his hands and wrapped her arms around him from beh
