He did not sleep well. The letter was on the nightstand, the words still echoing through his thoughts, and every time he closed his eyes he saw Beck's handwriting — measured, deliberate, the confession of a man who had known he would be caught. Aaron lay awake for most of the night, watching the shadows shift across the ceiling, and when he finally drifted off, the sleep was thin and unsatisfying.
He woke before the sun. Sophie was still asleep, her hand resting on his chest, her breathing slow. He moved carefully, sliding out from under her touch, and stood by the window as the first light began to gather over the lake.
The letter was still there. He picked it up, read it once more, and set it down.
