Evan closed his eyes for a second, took the compass back and held it in his closed fist. “Thank you for listening.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
The same words from the kitchen. A pattern between them now, steady as a tide.
They walked back toward the resort in the dark, close enough that their shoulders brushed with every other step. The Christmas lights made the path glow. The chapel bell had long since rung.
At the service entrance, he stopped.
“Margot.”
She turned.
“Whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to know that helping you with this is the first thing in five years that’s felt like it matters.”
She looked at him for a long moment. The dock lights were behind him and the Christmas lights were behind her, and they stood in the space between, lit from both sides.
“It matters to me too,” she said. Then, softer: “You matter to me.”
Three words. Quiet and certain.
They landed in the center of his chest, in the place where thirty seconds of silence had lived for five years.
He wanted to say it back. He wanted to tell her that she’d walked into his dock shed and his routine and his carefully constructed nothing, and she’d made it all feel like something worth keeping. But the words were too big for the doorway of a resort at ten o’clock at night, so he said the only thing he could.
“Goodnight, Margot.”
“Goodnight, Evan.”
She went inside. He stood in the doorway until the elevator light changed from one to three, and then he walked back to the dock.
The compass was warm in his pocket. It felt less like a memorial now and more like a promise. Lauren’s voice, calling his name across the water, had been the last sound he’d held on to for five years.
Tonight, it was Margot’s voice. You matter to me.
Three words, quiet and certain, landing in the place where thirty seconds of silence had lived.
Not replacing. Not erasing.
Just settling in beside it.
Chapter twenty-nine
Same Step
MargotfoundDetectiveHarkerwaiting in Elaine’s office when she arrived for the morning briefing.
He’d texted two days ago about taking statements on the Whitley girl: both of them, he’d said, ten minutes. Then this morning he’d moved the meeting up and asked for her alone. When she’d asked about Evan, he said he’d take his account separately. She hadn’t understood why until she walked in.
She knew something was wrong the moment she walked in.
Elaine was standing behind her desk, not sitting. Harker was in the chair by the window, notepad open. Neither of them looked at her the way people look at someone they’re about to deliver good news to.
“Close the door, please,” Elaine said.
The click of the latch sounded louder than it should have.
Harker placed two documents on Elaine’s desk.
