Page 128 of In the Dark of the Past

“No,” he said.

“Grant gave the order for Eleanor?”

“Directly,” Vale said. “And in person. Three days before. He was specific about what he wanted and what he didn’t want found afterward.” A pause. “He was never there for any of that stuff. That was the whole point of people like me.”

*People like me*. The phrase sat in the room.

Vale looked at Evan. Evan was looking at the floor.

“I found you because you had nothing,” Vale said to Evan. Quiet, though not asking for anything, just saying it. “I knew exactly what I was doing. You were thirteen years old, and I knew exactly what I was doing. And there’s no excuse. Apologies won’t cut it.”

Evan didn’t look up. His jaw was tight. He held himself like someone who wasn’t going to cry in front of the person who made them feel like they had to be strong.

Vale turned to me. “I need you to tell Jordyn something.” His voice had changed. It wasn’t broken, exactly, more like something more final than broken. It was the voice of a man doing the last thing he had to do. “Tell her I’m sorry for what I put her through. She didn’t know what it was at first. And by the time she understood, I’d made it impossible for her to leave without losing everything.” He stopped. “That wasn’t her fault. It was mine. Tell her I know that. Tell her I love her.”

The clinical part of my brain registered it immediately. The specificity of the message, the past tense of it, the quality of a goodbye that didn’t expect a reply.

“Mark,” I said, using his first name. Saying it carefully and trying to make a connection. “There’s always an answer.”

He looked at me. Clear-eyed but exhausted in the deep way.

“I know what you’re thinking. Feeling,” I said. “But I need you to hear me. You were controlled. Yes, you’re culpable, but this isn’t all on you.”

He smirked. “You’ve been reading me since the alley,” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed. “And what I’ve read is a man who came here to make sure Evan could speak. Who confirmed what Eleanor’s case needed to be confirmed. Who loves his sister.” I leaned forward slightly. “That man’s testimony is the piece that connects Grant directly to her murder. Without you saying it on record, there’s a good chance he’ll walk. A good defense attorney, a sympathetic jury, decades of being a Grant and having the kind of power the family name weilds. He’ll walk.”

Vale was quiet.

“I’m not asking you to do this for yourself,” I said. “I know you don’t think you deserve to come through this. I’m asking you to do it for Eleanor.” I paused. “I’m asking you to do it for Evan, who has been carrying what happened off that logging road for all these years and deserves to watch the person who gave the order go to trial for it.”

Evan looked up then, straight at Vale. The two of them held the stare for a moment—the man who had been a father figure, the boy who had trusted him, and years of wreckage in between.

Vale closed his eyes.

I looked at Finn over my shoulder. He was already reading me. I gave him the smallest nod, telling him to stay with Mark. To not leave him alone. He moved immediately and quietly, taking the side of the sofa beside Vale.

I stood and crossed to Evan. “Come outside with me for some air,” I said.

He stood.

We walked around the back of the cabin. The creek was loud in the quiet after the door closed. The rain had stopped, and the sky above the tree line was washed clear, the stars very sharp.

Evan stood with his arms crossed, looking at the water. “She was trying to save me,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He was saying it out loud because it needed to be said.

“Yes,” I said.

“And I handed her right to them.”

I let that sit. Not because there was nothing to say, but because there was a difference between a true thing and a complete thing, and he needed a moment to feel the weight of the true part before I gave him the rest.

“You were still a kid,” I said. “You’d been inside that machine since you were thirteen. The person you trusted most in the world had spent four years making sure that when a moment like that came, you would do exactly what you did.” I looked at him. “That’s not absolution. What happened to Eleanor happened. And only you can forgive yourself. But it’s context. And context matters. Not because it erases anything, but because it’s true.”

He was quiet for a long time. The creek trickled past, and an owl called once from somewhere in the pines.

“Do you think she knew I didn’t want to be there?” he asked. “At the end. When she looked at me.”

I thought about Eleanor’s margin notes. The circles around his name. The harassment complaint she’d filed not to hurt him but to build a wall around him. It was the move of a woman who understood that the only tool she had was an official paper trail, and she was going to use it even if he didn’t understand why.