I love you.
Dad.
Mason read the letter until the words blurred.
He had spent years wondering whether his father had chosen to leave.
Now he knew the truth.
David had tried to come back.
He had tried to find William.
He had tried to protect his son.
And he had left a message in every place where he thought someone might one day look.
Mason folded the letter carefully.
Arthur stood beside him.
"Your father loved you."
Mason nodded.
"I know."
It was the first time he had said those words without doubt.
Avery remembered one more detail.
David had spoken about a woman who helped him after the meeting at North Lake.
Her name was Grace.
She had found him near a roadside ditch and taken him to a small clinic.
The investigators searched for people named Grace who had worked in the region during 1998.
They found a nurse named Grace Miller.
She had retired and moved to a town near the coast.
When shown the photograph of David, she recognized him.
"I remember him," she said.
"He came in with injuries?"
"Yes. He had a fractured rib, a cut above his eye, and a badly sprained wrist. He was dehydrated and exhausted."
"Did he tell you what happened?"
"He said he had been attacked."
"Did he give a name?"
"No."
"Did he stay long?"
"Three days."
"Where did he go afterward?"
Grace looked down.
"He went to a friend."
"Do you know who?"
She shook her head.
"But he left something with me."
She went to another room and returned with a small photograph.
It showed David standing beside a woman and a young girl.
The woman was in her thirties.
The girl looked about eight.
Mason stared at the image.
"Who are they?"
Grace examined it.
"The woman was named Rachel. The girl was her daughter, Sophie."
"Did David live with them?"
"For a while, I think."
"Where?"
"Somewhere near the coast. I remember a place called Harbor Lane."
The investigators searched the area.
They found a former address connected to Rachel Miller, who had died in 2016.
Her daughter, Sophie, was alive.
She lived in a small town outside the city.
Mason contacted her.
She agreed to meet.
Sophie Miller was in her late thirties.
She had dark hair and a quiet manner.
When Mason showed her the photograph, she looked surprised.
"That's my mother."
"And the man?"
"David."
Mason nodded.
"He was my father."
Sophie looked at him.
"You're Mason?"
"Yes."
She sat down slowly.
"I've wondered whether someone would come."
"Did you know him well?"
"He lived with us for almost a year."
Mason felt his chest tighten.
"A year?"
"Yes. He worked at a repair shop nearby. He was very kind. He helped me fix my bicycle. He used to make breakfast on Sundays."
Sophie smiled faintly.
"He didn't talk much about his family, but he had a photograph of a little boy. He kept it in his wallet."
Mason looked down.
"Me."
"Yes."
"Did he ever say he wanted to return?"
"All the time."
"What stopped him?"
Sophie thought.
"He said he was afraid that the people looking for him would find us. He said he couldn't risk bringing danger to our home."
"Did he receive letters?"
"Sometimes."
"From whom?"
"I don't know. He would read them and become very quiet."
"Did he ever mention Samuel Price?"
Sophie nodded.
"Once. He said a man from his past had found him again."
Mason's pulse quickened.
"When?"
"Maybe 1999."
"What happened?"
"He left the next morning."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"He said he needed to finish something."
Mason felt the familiar weight of uncertainty.
"Did he come back?"
Sophie shook her head.
"No."
"Did you ever hear from him?"
"One letter."
She stood and went to a cabinet.
Inside was a folder of old papers.
She found an envelope.
The handwriting was David's.
Mason recognized it immediately.
The letter was dated 2000.
Rachel,
Thank you for everything. I will never forget the kindness you showed me and Sophie. I am sorry I had to leave so suddenly.
I need to go somewhere safe. I have been told that the people who hurt me are looking again. I don't want them anywhere near you.
Please tell Sophie that I hope she becomes a person who never lets fear decide what kind of life she deserves.
I am trying to find a way to return to my son.
David.
Mason closed his eyes.
His father had been alive in 2000.
He had been trying to return.
The investigators searched for further records.
A bank account under David's alias had been used until 2002.
A vehicle registration showed that he had traveled north.
Then the trail ended.
But one more clue remained.
Sophie remembered that David had spoken about a mechanic in a town called Stonebridge.
He had said that the mechanic knew how to keep an old truck running without asking questions.
Mason looked at the map.
Stonebridge was only forty miles away.
He felt a small spark of hope.
The mechanic was named George Whitaker.
He was ninety years old and lived with his daughter.
When Mason showed him the photograph, Whitaker nodded.
"David Cole."
"You knew him?"
"For a while."
"When?"
"Early 2000s."
"Did he live nearby?"
"He rented a room above the garage."
"How long?"
"Maybe six months."
"Where did he go?"
Whitaker looked toward the window.
"North."
"Did he say why?"
"He said he was going to see someone."
"Who?"
"His father."
Mason felt the room go quiet.
"William?"
Whitaker nodded.
"He said the old man was alive."
"Did he meet him?"
"I don't know. He left one morning and didn't come back."
"Did he leave anything?"
Whitaker thought.
"Yes."
He walked to a small storage room and returned with a metal toolbox.
Inside were several tools, a photograph, and a notebook.
Mason opened the notebook.
The first pages contained mechanical notes.
The final page held a single sentence.
If I find him, I will ask him why he thought he could save us by keeping us in the dark.
Mason looked at Arthur.
It was the first time he had seen his father express anger toward William in writing.
And it was understandable.
David had been forced to live in hiding.
He had lost years with his son.
He had watched the people responsible escape justice.
He had spent his life searching for the man who had created the danger.
Mason closed the notebook.
"Did you hear from him again?"
Whitaker nodded.
"Once."
"When?"
"2004."
"What did he say?"
"He said he had found something."
"What?"
"He didn't tell me."
"Did he say where he was?"