Marcus didn't sleep that night.He sat at his window watching the dark streets below, replaying Castellano's threat over and over. The man knew where he lived, where he worked, and worst of all he knew about Emma.Emma, who'd done nothing except show kindness to a stranger. Emma, who was helping him research when she didn't have to. Emma, who was now in danger because of him.At 5 AM, Marcus made a decision.He had to cut ties with her. For her own safety.---Saturday morning, Marcus showed up at the library the moment it opened at 9 AM. Emma was at the circulation desk, sorting through returned books.Her face brightened when she saw him. "Marcus! I wasn't expecting you this early. I found more information on Thomas Gray's—""I can't do this anymore," Marcus interrupted, his voice flat.Emma's smile faded. "Can't do what?""The research. The investigation. Any of it." He kept his expression hard, emotionless. "I appreciate your help, but I'm done. I'm going to focus on work, keep my

Emma drove them to her apartment, a modest second-floor walk-up on the east side of the city. It was small but warm, with bookshelves lining every wall and soft lamplight that made Marcus's eyes hurt after years of harsh fluorescent prison lighting."We can't go to your place," Emma had reasoned. "If they saw you on camera, they might already be watching your apartment."Marcus didn't argue. She was right.Emma cleared space on her dining table while Marcus carefully laid out the documents they'd recovered. The USB drive sat in the center like a ticking bomb."We need to copy everything," Emma said, opening her laptop. "Multiple backups. Cloud storage, physical drives, everything.""Won't that leave a digital trail?""I'll use a VPN and encrypt the files. It's not perfect, but it's better than keeping everything in one place." Emma plugged in the USB drive. "If Castellano's people find one copy, we'll still have others."While the files copied, Marcus examined the photographs of Derek

Detective Raymond Chen looked older than Marcus remembered. The man who'd arrested him thirteen years ago now had deep lines around his eyes, gray streaking his dark hair, and a weariness that seemed to weigh down his shoulders.He sat across from Marcus and Emma in a quiet corner of a diner on the outskirts of the city neutral ground that Marcus had insisted on. Chen had agreed to meet, though his voice on the phone had been cautious, skeptical."You have five minutes," Chen said, stirring his coffee without drinking it. "Make it good."Marcus slid the tablet across the table. On it were the key documents from Thomas Gray's storage unit financial records, photographs of Derek Cross, the timeline placing Cross at the murder scene."Victor Castellano ordered my parents' murder. Derek Cross carried it out. Thomas Gray documented everything before Castellano had him killed too." Marcus kept his voice low but urgent. "I was framed. You convicted an innocent seventeen year old kid while the

Marcus woke in a hospital bed, sunlight streaming through the window. His shoulder throbbed with a deep, persistent ache that the pain medication could only dull, not eliminate.Emma sat in a chair beside him, asleep with her head resting on the edge of his bed. Her hand was inches from his, her face peaceful despite the dark circles under her eyes.Marcus watched her for a moment, grateful she was alive. Grateful they'd both survived.A nurse entered quietly, checking his vitals. "You're awake. Good. How's the pain?""Manageable.""The bullet went clean through. Missed the bone, missed major arteries. You were lucky." She adjusted his IV. "The police want to talk to you when you're ready. And there's a man named James Reid who's been calling every hour.""My uncle. Tell him I'm okay.""I will. Rest now. Doctor will be by in an hour." The nurse left as quietly as she'd entered.Emma stirred, her eyes opening. When she saw Marcus awake, relief flooded her face."You're okay," she breat

Marcus arrived at The Grind forty-five minutes early.He ordered coffee he couldn't taste and sat at a corner table where he could watch the door. His injured shoulder throbbed despite the pain medication, but physical pain was easier to manage than the anxiety twisting his stomach into knots.Emma had offered to come with him for support. Marcus had declined. This was something he needed to do alone.His phone showed 10:47 AM. Thirteen minutes.Marcus checked his reflection in the window. He'd worn his best clothes the nicest jeans Uncle James had bought him, a button-down shirt, his hair carefully combed. He wanted to look presentable, normal. Not like the hardened ex-con he'd become.Would Sophie even recognize him? The last time she'd seen him, he was seventeen still a kid, really. Now he was thirty, scarred and weathered by prison.And Sophie. The last time Marcus saw her, she was nine years old with gap teeth and pigtails. Now she was twenty-two. A medical student. A woman he did