Page 165

Bane

SEPTEMBER 1ST

The front door opens before I can knock a second time, and the woman standing behind it looks past me directly at the photograph Emma is holding.

It took a week longer to get here than we’d planned. Spencer’s story burned through several news cycles before Communications and my security team were satisfied that showing up at Nora’s door wouldn’t drag reporters behind us.

Emma handled the delay considerably better than I did, although neither of us suggested coming here until we knew we’d leave Nora’s privacy intact.

“Where did you get that?”

Emma glances at me before answering. “It was sent to Bane’s daughters.”

Nora finally looks at me, and recognition reaches her face almost as quickly. “You’re Benny.”

Few people outside of my family call me that anymore.

I study her more closely. “We’ve met?”

Her fingers remain curled around the edge of the door. “You don’t remember me.”

It isn’t an accusation, although I hear the disappointment I might’ve imagined if she hadn’t followed it with a small smile. “I met a lot of people during that time.”

“I know.” Her gaze moves back to the photograph. “You were busy fixing everything.”

Emma’s mouth twitches beside me.

I decide to ignore that.

Nora opens the door farther. “You should come inside.”

Her house looks exactly like the sort of place my security instincts prefer because nothing about it gives me much to investigate.

Family photographs cover a narrow table near the stairs, a stack of mail sits beside a ceramic bowl full of keys, and somebody has left gardening gloves on a chair near the back door.

A teenage boy appears at the top of the stairs, takes one look at the strangers following his mother through the house, and retreats before Nora reaches the kitchen.

“My son,” Nora explains as she leads us toward the kitchen. “He considers unexpected adults a personal inconvenience.”

Emma smiles. “Sounds reasonable.”

“Apparently I was less embarrassing when he was ten.”

We sit around a wooden table beside a window overlooking the backyard as Nora makes coffee for herself and tea for Emma. She doesn’t ask what I want before setting a black coffee in front of me.

“You remember what I drink after all these years?”

Nora lowers herself into the chair opposite us. “You drank terrible shelter coffee like it was keeping you alive.”

“It probably was.” I take a drink and find this version considerably better than anything Haven House served.

She smiles briefly before her attention returns to the photograph Emma places between us. Seeing Celeste’s face changes her again.

Nora touches one corner without picking it up. “I wondered whether you’d ever find me.”

“You sent the packages.”

“I did.” Nora keeps one hand beside Celeste’s photograph. Emma moves hers across the table until her fingers rest against mine. “I wanted the girls to have things that belonged to their mother, but every time I tried to write to you directly, I stopped.”