“Daniel,” I said.
He turned.
The examiner photographed the box, then lifted the lid.
Inside were envelopes, a flash drive sealed in plastic, and a stack of letters tied with a blue ribbon.
I knew that ribbon.
It had once held together the curtains in my first apartment, back when I was twenty-six and believed love meant being seen clearly.
My hands trembled as I reached for the letters.
They were addressed to me.
All of them.
Iris Caldwell
Iris, please call me
My dear Iris
Clara’s handwriting appeared on some. My old professor’s on another. A college friend. A former colleague from the research lab.
Letters I had never received.
Years of voices Jason had intercepted before they could reach me.
I opened the first one from Clara.
