Hamilton’s face goes slack, mouth opening on a sound that never comes. His hands drop to his sides like the bones have been pulled out. The way he looks at me is pity—which is disgusting. I can't stand the idea that anyone would pity me. I’m a strong woman. I don’t need pity. I fucking need justice.
My eyes turn away from him because I won't look him in the eye and say I understand. I was forced to be silent. And the ones who knew remained that way too. I didn't have a choice, but now I do, and I'm not backing down this time.
Jace returns to leaning on the wall while the room stays locked in that truth. Hamilton stares at the floor, gritting his teeth and flexing his jaw before he locks it down. He stands frozen in the middle of his own house with the television commercial talking about gravy recipes. His face drains of every drop of color until the skin looks translucent over the bones, and his eyes lock on mine like he is seeing me for the first time since we stepped inside.
He opens his mouth once, closes it, then tries again. “I didn’t know,” he rasps, the sound scraping out raw. “Hart… I swear on my life I didn’t know he took it that far.”
I can only nod because speaking again right now would splinter something inside me that I've spent two years welding back together. But the nod is enough and Hamilton's shoulders cave inward as he drags both hands over his head like he's overwhelmed.
“I thought the threat was the end of it,” he says, voice cracking on every syllable. “I thought he scared you into signing the recant and that was that. We all walked out of the tent and I…”
His gaze drops to the carpet and stays there, fixed on a spot between his boots. "I'm sorry."
“Now you know the full price of keeping your head down,” I tell Hamilton. “Six graves and counting. And your turn's coming if we don’t stop him, Ham."
Hamilton lifts his head, and the guilt written across his face is so complete, I don't have to ask how he's feeling. His throat works once, twice, before the words come.
“I have a notebook,” he says. “I wrote everything down the night it happened. Dates, times, exact quotes. I wrote it because I knew one day, I’d hate myself for doing nothing.” He swallows hard.
The television cuts to a commercial for Black Friday sales and the sudden jingle sounds obscene in the room. Hamilton doesn’t flinch. He keeps his eyes on me.
“I didn’t know about the shed,” he says again, quieter. “If I’d known he touched you like that, I would’ve killed him myself. I swear it.”
Something passes between us in the way he looks at me. He doesn't touch me, but I can see affection in his eyes. When you work and live together with someone, you build a bond, and while I never knew how deep that bond could reach, I feel it now. Everette is like a brother to me. He always has been. And I'm seeing that same concern and compassion returned to me.
“Then help me stop him,” I answer. “Legally. We go to Defense and present all of our evidence and stop him from hurting anyone else."
Hamilton’s hands clench at his sides, knuckles blanching.
“My career ends the second I open my mouth,” he says.
“Your family buries you if you don’t,” I say softly. "Ham, we have to do this…"
He flinches at my words. I can see how scared he is, the way his shoulders are drawn up and his face is scrunched. Court-martial is a terrifying thing, but I'm facing it too, and I'm still pursuing this. Bryan has to be stopped.
“I’m not asking you to be a hero, Ham. I’m asking you to stop being a coward. You owe me that much.”
The room grows deathly silent. No one moves a muscle, and even the television seems to understand how somber this moment is. I don't want to walk out that door leaving Jace in here to clean up this loose end, but I will if I have to. And it will destroy me the way the last one did, but no price is too high at this point. Hamilton is on Jace's list. He's being given a way out of that certain death.
“Get whatever you need to record,” he says. “I’ll give you everything.”
Relief floods me so hard, my vision tunnels for a second. I pull Jace's phone from my pocket with fingers that barely cooperate and open the voice memo app. Hamilton watches me set it on the coffee table, and we both settle into the furniture stiffly.
He drags in a long breath, squares his shoulders the way he did before every mission brief, and starts talking. Every word that pours from his lips pulls strings of emotion from my chest, threatening to overwhelm my better judgment, but my training holds. I sit with my shoulders squared, listening to him recount every painful detail.
When he gets to the part about the night Bryan raped me, he offers only plain facts devoid of emotion, but I see the way his hands shake and the tension on his forehead. And when he's finished, he covers his face with his hands, planting his elbows on his knees, and his shoulders sag.
"You did good, Ham-dog," I tell him, knowing this is just the beginning. "But we still have work to do."
“I’ll testify,” he says. “Wherever, whenever. Just tell me where to be.”
I stop the recording and slip the phone back into my pocket. It's a relief to know we've got someone else on board, and an even bigger relief to know my good friend doesn't have to end up dead like the others.
In a true break from protocol, I stand and lean down to hug him. Everette stands with me, wrapping me in a hug so tight it hurts to breathe. "Thank you," I whisper.
"I really am sorry," he says back, low enough that Jace can't hear at all. "I really would have killed him, Sabine. I always liked you." I get the sense that Everette is insinuating something more than just friendship, and though it makes me smile, I find myself completely unaffected.
Flattered, maybe, but not moved by it.
