She nodded, her smile sad, like she knew. “I owe you the answers. Let’s sit.”
We settled on the porch steps, the wood cool under my hands, the moonlight casting her in silver. Her voice was thesame, soft but sure, the one that’d spun tales of pirates when I was a kid.
“Are you with Department 77?” I asked, the question sharp, urgent.
She sighed, her eyes distant. “I am. It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?” I pressed, my voice hard. “You left us. You were gone, and now you’re back, leaving messages, fucking with my head. I need to know.”
She looked at me, her gaze steady but heavy. “It started with your grandfather. My father. A man you boys never knew existed.”
I blinked, my mind reeling. “Grandfather?”
She nodded, her voice low, weaving a story like she used to, but this one wasn’t for giggles.
“He was a shadow in the intelligence world, a visionary, or so he thought. Department 77 was his creation—a tool for the government to handle problems outside official channels. Black ops, deniable missions, the kind of work that kept the world spinning without anyone knowing. I was young, a budding spy, trained by him, but I refused to join 77. I wanted my own path.”
She paused, her eyes softening, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. “Then I met your father. Byron Dane. He was your grandfather’s protégé, ripped from the pages of some American hero novel—charming, skilled, fearless. We fell in love instantly, Silas. It was like lightning. He convinced me to join 77, said we could change the world together. And for a while, we did. Those were the best days of my life—missions that mattered, saving lives, and then having you boys. Oh, how I loved you all.”
Her voice cracked, and my chest tightened, memories flooding back—her tucking me in, calling meMy Silas, her laugh in the kitchen.
“I missed you,” she said, her eyes wet. “I kept tabs on you, always. From the shadows.”
“Then why didn’t you come back?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Why did Dad never talk about you after you left? Why did you leave us?”
Something passed across her face—sadness, regret, a shadow I couldn’t read.
“It’s complicated,” she said, her voice soft, heavy. “I’m not ready to tell the whole story, not until I can see all my boys together. But I’ll tell you this: your father was right to leave 77. The missions changed. They stopped being about America’s safety and became a weapon for the most secretive, powerful people in the world. Your grandfather called it a necessary evil, but I saw the truth—he’d been corrupted, seduced by power. Your father saw it, too, and he left to protect you boys. I stayed because of my father, because I thought I could fix it, and to keep 77’s eyes off you.”
I stared at her, my mind spinning, trying to piece it together.
“Protect us? By disappearing? By letting us think you were dead?”
“There’s more,” she said, her voice tired, her eyes distant. “Some that matters, some that doesn’t. But I’m not ready. Not yet.”
I wanted to push, to demand the rest, but her face stopped me—worn, haunted, but still my mother. She reached for my hand, her fingers cool, and I let her, the contact grounding me.
“I’m tired,” she said, her voice soft. “I just want to be with you now, to sit with my boy.”
My throat tightened, and I nodded, the questions burning but held back.
We sat in silence, the ocean’s hum a quiet backdrop, her presence real and unreal all at once. I couldn’t believe it—my mother, here, after years of lies.
My mind spun on her story—Department 77, her father, my grandfather, a man I’d never known, pulling strings from theshadows. My father, leaving to save us, her staying to shield us, both caught in a war that changed them. It was too much, too big, and yet all I could feel was her hand in mine, her voice in my ears.
Then she looked at me, her eyes sharp, like she could see through me. “Tell me about Portia,” she said, her voice gentle but probing.
I froze, my heart thudding, her question a new kind of blade.
Portia. Her fire, her absence, her fear when she saw that ribbon.
I didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know what Portia was to me—a lover, a war, a dream I couldn’t keep.
And as I sat there, my mother’s gaze on me, the night heavy with secrets, I felt the weight of it all—her return, Portia’s silence, the battle I couldn’t escape.
21
PORTIA
