They’d spent another two hours sitting there in front of the cold fireplace. He told her about Westnedge, promised again to take her there. Her gentle probing to learn more about him hadn’t stopped, but it had eased a little. That wasn’t necessarily indicative of anything. There was something else, though, something about what she asked and how that had all but confirmed for him what he’d already deep down known.
Eventually, she’d decide to go back. She wouldn’t stay in the Protected Zone, nor could he blame her for the choice. The life he’d chosen wasn’t for everyone and while her life would be in danger out in the wider galaxy, he could understand what forces might drive her choice to return.
When she’d finally gone to bed, he lingered in the chair by the fire, his gaze tracing familiar patterns of soot against the brick and stone. There were things he needed to do, things he’d put off in favor of keeping an eye on her those first days after he’d rescued her.
The idea of sending her father the files set his stomach twisting uncomfortably, though. No one deserved to see that sort of evidence and have it related to their child, but Colm O’Shaughnessy was the only person he’d ever trusted with any information like it.
He closed his eyes, bowing his head slightly as he took a slow, deep breath. It was grief that he was feeling, grief and guilt, already imagining what the reaction might be from his father’s closest friend. The man had already lost so much in the last six years and this would be an even heavier blow. How Colm kept going day to day was something he’d never quite figured out. It was a mystery he didn’t think he’d ever solve, nor did he exactly want to.
It was at least another hour before he worked up the determination to get up from the chair and send the transmission. At least Colm wouldn’t know where it came from—at least, he was fairly certain that Colm didn’t know where the information ever came from, and if he did, he never asked, never responded to the transmissions. Still, he knew the older man received them. He’d seen too much evidence not to believe that.
He locked up the house and went to his room, locking that door, too. He made sure the curtains were tightly drawn and turned down the lamp before he headed for one corner of the room. He eased aside the overstuffed chair that more often than not caught discarded clothing and flipped back the corner of the rug. His fingers traced a seam in the wooden floor before he pressed down firmly on one end of the board, letting it pivot up and reveal the small compartment beneath. He nudged aside a cloth bag and a small case, reaching down to remove a battery pack the size of his fist. Closing his eyes, he sent a trickle of magic into the pack to top off its charge, then pushed back to his feet, crossing to the other side of the room.
All of us have our things that we didn’t—or couldn’t—leave behind. I guess this was one of mine, even though sometimes I wish I could. The transmitter was hidden at the back of his closet, behind a false panel in the wall, tucked behind winter clothing that he’d be wearing sooner rather than later. He eased the panel free and leaned it against the wall, then pried open the battery compartment to slot in the power source in his hand.
In a sudden fit of paranoia, he came back to his feet again, checking the curtains—secure—and his bedroom door—still locked. He squeezed his eyes shut and slid his hand into his pocket, taking out the thumb drive with the data he’d dumped from the Veritan installation. He’d intended to destroy it after transmitting it.
Why was he hesitating now?
You have to send it. He needs to know.
But it’s his daughter. It’s about his daughter this time. That makes it different.
There was no way to leave her name out of it. He knew that. He also knew that he shouldn’t because no matter how much it would hurt, Colm still deserved that truth.
Someday, the galaxy would need that truth.
You know what has to happen. Stop stalling.
Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, he sighed and went back to the transmitter, kneeling down. A few switches and buttons later, the transmitter hummed to life. He plugged the drive into it and took a deep, steadying breath.
I at least have to tell him she’s going to be okay.
He sat there against his heels for a few minutes frowning at his hands in the shadows. Would he believe it? Did he dare?
Do I have a real choice?
He started the transmission for the data and started to punch in an addendum to attack to the end of it.
Don’t worry too much, it said. She’ll be as safe as I can keep her in repayment for a debt my father never got to pay.
He shut everything down as soon as the transmission was done. The message was the riskiest thing he’d done in years, enough to leave him trembling.
One more person would know the secret, but it was someone he trusted to keep it because he knew, of anyone out there, Colm O’Shaughnessy would understand.
