Noah pulled into the prison car park. “We're here. You two ready for this?”
“No,” Cal said honestly. “But let's do it anyway.”
The prisonwhere they'd held Ethan was exactly as bleak as I'd expected. Grey walls. Razor wire. The particular architecture of places designed to contain rather than rehabilitate.
We waited outside the gates. Cal checked his watch compulsively. I forced myself to stay still despite the anxiety crawling under my skin.
Three years. Ethan had spent three years behind those walls for crimes he didn't commit. Three years while I'd believed the lies. While I'd abandoned him.
“Stop it,” Cal said quietly. “Stop spiralling. You didn't know. Neither did he. And now he's coming home.”
“I should have known. Should have questioned?—”
“You were grieving. People don't think clearly when they're grieving. They believe the first story that makes sense because making sense is easier than living with uncertainty.” Cal's hand found mine. “You came back. Found the truth. Got him out. That matters more than the time it took.”
The gates opened. A figure emerged.
Ethan.
He looked different. Thinner. Harder. Prison bulk in his shoulders from whatever exercise he'd done to survive. Tattoos I didn't remember visible on his arms. Moving with the caution of someone who'd learned not to trust open spaces.
He saw us. Stopped. Expression cycling through shock and disbelief and something that might have been hope.
I moved before conscious thought. Crossed the distance. Pulled him into my arms with force that probably hurt but I couldn't help.
“I'm sorry,” I said. Voice breaking. “I'm so sorry. I believed them. Let them convince me you'd killed her. I should have fought harder. Should have questioned everything. Should have?—”
“Stop.” Ethan's arms came up. Held me despite his own exhaustion. “You didn't know. Neither did I. We were both victims of the same machine.”
“But I gave up on you. Let you rot in here for three years?—”
“And then you came back. Found the truth. Destroyed the people who did this.” He pulled back. Looked at me with eyes that had learned to survive in darkness. “That counts for more than you know. You could have let it stay buried. Could have moved on. But you didn't. You fought. And now I'm free. That's what matters.”
I couldn't speak. Just held onto him while three years of guilt compressed into this moment.
“Dom,” Cal said gently. “Let him breathe.”
Ethan turned to Cal. “You're the investigator. The one who wouldn't let it go.”
“Callahan Mercer. Cal.” Cal shifted on his crutches, extended his hand.
Ethan shook it. Held it for a moment longer than necessary. “Dom wrote about you. In his letters. Said you were stubborn. Brilliant. Occasionally suicidal in pursuit of truth.”
“That's accurate.” Cal's mouth twitched. “Though I'm trying to be less suicidal now. Dom insists on it.”
“Good. He needs someone who'll stay alive long enough to keep him grounded.” Ethan looked between us, understanding flickering. “You're together. Not just professionally.”
“Yes.” I moved to Cal's side. “He's—he's important. More than I can explain properly.”
“You don't have to explain. I can see it.” Ethan's expression softened. “Lily would have liked him. Would have approved of you finding someone who challenges you.”
The mention of Lily hit hard. But not the way it used to. Just grief. Clean. Acknowledged. It no longer made breathing difficult.
“Come on,” Noah said gently. “Let's get you somewhere more comfortable. You can catch up properly once you've eaten and slept in a real bed.”
We drove back to Ravenswood. Ethan sat in the back beside me, staring out the window like he couldn't quite believe the world still existed outside grey walls.
“Where am I going?” he asked quietly. “After this. After—I don't have anywhere. No job. No home. Three years is long enough that everything I had before is gone.”
