"It's the only answer I have."
He was quiet for a long time. The only sounds were the hum of the refrigerator and the distant wail of a siren somewhere in the city.
"You can't save everyone, Bunny."
"I know."
"But you're going to try anyway."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because someone has to. Because no one else will. Because I can't..."
I stopped.
"Because I can't just sit here and do nothing. Not when I know what's happening. Not when I know who's responsible."
"And Gabriel?"
"He's part of it. He started it. He created the methods they're using. But he's not the only one. There are others. Mercy Logistics. The buyers. The handlers. The whole network."
"You're going after all of them."
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"I have you."
He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I'm not a fighter, Bunny. I'm just a bartender who's seen too much."
"You're more than that."
"Maybe. But I'm not a killer."
"You don't have to be. You just have to be here. You just have to remind me to eat. You just have to remind me to sleep."
"That's not nothing."
"No. It's not."
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly.
Matt helped me organize the wall—moving photos, adjusting strings, adding notes I'd forgotten to include. He didn't ask questions about where the information came from or how I'd gotten it. He just worked, his hands steady, his presence calm.
"You're getting better at this."
"At what?"
"At functioning. At being a person."
"I don't feel like a person."
"You don't have to feel it. You just have to do it."
