He smiled when he saw us and pointed toward the corner.
The paper RESERVED sign was gone.
Alera climbed into the chair and inspected the table.
“Is this the famous one?”
“Apparently.”
She touched the scar on my wrist.
“Does it still hurt?”
“Sometimes.”
The café door opened behind us.
Livia entered with Ronan.
She carried a small box containing the black watch I had lost during the fire.
Investigators had found it sealed among the Meridian evidence.
She placed it in my palm.
The glass was cracked, and the orange second hand had stopped at 8:29.
“I thought you should have it,” she said.
I closed my fingers around the watch.
For years, the scar had felt like evidence of everything the fire took from me: my career, my savings, my name, and the belief that telling the truth was enough.
Sitting there with Alera beside me and Livia standing safely across the table, I finally understood it differently.
The scar was not proof that I had been burned.
It was proof that, when the hallway filled with smoke, I had carried someone out.
