A letter. Bank accounts. Numbers I didn't understand at first.
Then I did.
"The family's been taken care of," Silas said quietly. "They don't know it came from us. Just that someone's looking out for them. The kids can go to any college they want. Benson's wife will never make another mortgage payment. It's done."
I looked up, and I realized I was shaking.
Emotions I'd buried for decades were clawing their way to the surface, threatening to crack me open.
"That's what we do here," Silas continued. "At Dominion Hall. We take care of our own."
The words settled into the room like a vow.
I didn't understand. Couldn't process it.
"Why?" I managed.
Silas tilted his head. "What do we want from you?"
"Yeah."
"We'd like to get to know you," he said. "And you, us. See if it could be a good fit."
"For what?"
"We need men with your talents. Who can do exactly what you did in Latvia."
I stared at him. Waited.
He didn't flinch. "We need good men who can kill."
The words landed like the bourbon had on the plane. Smooth. With bite.
There was a silence between us. Not uncomfortable. Just ... understanding.
"Why do you think I'm a good man?" I asked.
For the first time, Silas smiled.
"Because it takes one to know one."
And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I let myself feel something other than emptiness.
Peace. Just a moment of it.
But it was enough.
5
JOY
Iwoke to birdsong and the faint creak of the porch swing outside my window.
For a few seconds, I lay still in the narrow bed I’d slept in my whole life, listening to the familiar sounds of McKinley Family Farm coming to life—the low hum of the refrigerator downstairs, Sunny’s nails clicking across the kitchen floor, Daddy’s shoes thudding softly on the porch as he headed out early, the way he always did.
Morning on Wadmalaw Island had a gentleness to it. Even the light arrived slowly, filtering through thin curtains instead of bursting in all at once.
Then my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
