The anger surged again, hot and righteous.
“I am,” I said. “But don’t mistake that for forgiveness.”
Her lips thinned.
“I need time,” I said suddenly, exhaustion crashing over me. “I can’t—” I shook my head. “I can’t process this here.”
Micah turned to me instantly. “Joy?—”
I reached for him, pressing my palm to his chest. “I’m with you. I swear. I just need … a minute. A few hours. To think. I need to get out of here.”
His jaw flexed. “I don’t like you leaving.”
“I know,” I said softly. “But I need to.”
Byron was already lifting his radio. “I’ll get the helicopter.”
Victoria said nothing as the rotors grew louder in the distance, her face unreadable in the lantern light.
Micah walked me to the edge of the sandbar, his hands framing my face. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said fiercely. “No matter what this is.”
I nodded, tears blurring my vision again. “I know.”
The helicopter descended, wind and noise swallowing the night. As I climbed aboard, I looked back once.
Byron stood near Victoria, the lantern casting long shadows between them.
Micah stood alone, watching me like the world might fall apart if I disappeared.
I pressed my hand to the glass.
Then the helicopter lifted, carrying me away from the sandbar, away from the truth I hadn’t asked for but now carried with me.
I closed my eyes.
And breathed.
29
BYRON
The helicopter lifted off, carrying Joy away into the night, and I watched until the running lights disappeared into the darkness.
Then it was just the three of us.
Me. Victoria. Micah.
Standing on a sandbar in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a lantern and the weight of thirty years between us.
Victoria pulled out another cigarette, her movements slower now, less theatrical. Like the performance was over and she was too tired to keep it going.
I watched her light it, the flame illuminating her face for just a moment, and I was suddenly somewhere else entirely.
Quantico. 1995.
Victoria had been exactly what she'd said.
Brilliant. Magnetic.
