The letter arrived on linen paper, no stamp, just my name in handwriting I knew too well. Amos. Again. I dropped it like it burned, but the damage was done—the scent of sandalwood and gun oil lingered in the air. Outside, rain slashed the windows of Will’s study, where he sat calmly grading papers, unaware. Or pretending to be.\n\nThen the gate alarm chimed. Through the security feed, I saw him: drenched, unshaven, holding a single white rose. Not threatening. Just… broken. Will looked up, his eyes gentle. 'You don’t have to answer it,' he said. 'But if you do, I trust you.'\n\nMy heart hammered. One path led to the door—to answers, to pain, to the man who once held my life in his hands. The other stayed here, safe, loved, whole. But staying might mean letting the past rot between us. Going out there? That could destroy everything.