Page 55 of Peripheral Vision

Thirty-Seven

DYLAN

The three of us go down to the hotel lobby to get breakfast but I mostly push mine around on my plate while we sit here, waiting for the other to speak. Nathan had offered to look at my injuries again, but I only let him assess my ankle and my hand before leaving the room, seeing as the cuts had all started to heal anyway. He re-splints my hand and puts a new one on my ankle, insisting that I let him know if it felt like I was getting an infection, on top of encouraging me to get evaluated further at a hospital to make sure I didn’t contract anything sexually while I was being held captive. That’s where our conversation ends—I know I need to, I’m just not ready.

“My sister was trafficked,” Fletcher says suddenly. “That’s why I do this. Her name was Riley, she is—was nineteen. We were eight years apart.”

I look up at Fletcher, my fork frozen in the middle of my plate as I process what he just said. The air feels heavy, and I can feel the shift in Nathan’s posture, the way he leans forward as though ready to pull Fletcher back if he falls too deep into the memory.

“Riley,” I repeat, testing the name, not knowing exactly what to say.

Fletcher doesn’t look at me, his gaze trapped within whatever he is going to say next. “One night, right before my third deployment, we thought it would be funny if we pretended to sneak out of the house. I was twenty-seven at the time so it didn’t matter to me, but Riley, having just graduated high school and because of our age difference, wanted a memory for just the two of us to keep. Something she could brag to her friends about when she went off to college and was reminiscing about old memories, first times—such as when her older brother took her out for underage drinking at the beach. It was us and a few of my SEAL buddies, your dad was there too. It was stupid and entirely reckless, but it was our way of saying goodbye before we went on a deployment, and I figured she was old enough to join the fun. I didn’t know that would be the last time I saw her. I thought we were safe on base, but…”

The words hang heavy in the air, thick with Fletcher’s grief. His hand grips the edge of his coffee cup, his knuckles white, and for a second I see the darkness in him—the darkness he has been trying to hide from me since last night.

“I don’t know how it happened, I don’t know how she slipped away. I didn’t even know she was gone until it was time to go. Then your dad and several other buddies helped me look for her. We searched for hours, but there was never any sign. It was like she had never been there at all. Going home hours before I was supposed to be leaving and having to tell our parents that… it haunts me to this day. I didn’t end up going, of course. Took an extended leave of absence. And for months, nothing ever popped up. Everyone told me to stop looking, that she was gone or a runaway. But I would always ask myself what kind of nineteen-year-old runs away from home when they’re getting the freedom they wanted anyway?” He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “But I knew Riley, she would never have done that to our parents. She was happy, looking forward to college. So I kept digging. I made calls, pushed people, even the cops. And then one day I got a call in return. A tip, they said, from someone who knew someone who worked in the system.

“Turns out Riley wasn’t just missing. She was being sold. Trapped in the worst kind of hell, in a world I didn’t even know really existed at the time. She was a victim, used like a commodity, like nothing more than an object to be traded. The moment I heard that, I felt like I was drowning. To this day I don’t know if she’s alive or dead, if she’s still out there, trapped in the same hell she was before. But I can’t stop looking. I can’t stop fighting for her. I can’t let her memory fade into nothing, because if it wasn’t for me, if I convinced her to stay home that night or kept a better eye on her, she’d still be here. So I left the military and hopped on board with the FBI.” He swallows hard, his voice breaking slightly as he finishes.

“I… I don’t?—”

He cuts me off, “You don’t have to say anything, little viper.” But the truth is so much larger than that. I want to say more. I want to express to him how sorry I am not only about his sister, but my reaction last night. He’s never stopped looking for his sister, and that’s why he’s as deep into this network as he is. That’s why despite our best efforts, my uncle took me; because Fletcher was finally close to something huge, whether or not it would yield results. That’s why he’s striving so hard to keep me from unraveling. Because I might not be his sister, but I amhis.The truth hits me like a semi barreling toward a runaway truck ramp. He went through all of this to getmeback. He’s proved time and time again that he would risk his life forme.I stare at him, my chest tight with emotions I can’t quite name. His pain, his relentless pursuit of his sister, and now his devotion to me—it’s all so much bigger than I ever imagined. The guilt that claws at me isn’t about how I treated him last night, though that’s suddenly heavy enough on its own. It’s about how little I’ve understood him until now.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, the words tumbling over each other in my desperation to be heard. “I’m sorry about your sister and I’m sorryfor last night, for not understanding. For not seeing past the surface.”

He exhales sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t apologize for things you didn’t know and for things that aren’t your fault.”

“But I?—”

“Stop,” he cuts me off again, firmer this time. “You didn’t ask for any of this. None of it is on you, understand? Not my sister, not your uncle, not anything that was said last night.”

“But you…” I trail off, struggling to articulate the tidal wave of emotions surging through me. “You’ve done so much for me. You’ve sacrificed so much. How can I ever?—”

“Little viper,” he murmurs, the nickname something I’ve become used to. He reaches across the table, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “You don’t owe me anything. Not gratitude, not apologies. I did what I did because I couldn’t do anything else. Because losing you wasn’t an option. It will never be an option.”

His words settle over me like a blanket that’s both too heavy and not heavy enough. I don’t pull away from his hand, but I don’t lean into anymore either. Not knowing what else to say, I look at Nathan. “And what’s your story?”

“I’d tell you, but it looks like we have company.” Nathan’s eyes flick behind me and I stiffen before looking over my shoulder. Behind me, a woman and a man in dark suits are approaching. They move with purpose, their steps measured but deliberate, like they know exactly who they’re here for.

“Miss Keller?” the woman asks, her voice steady but carrying a weight that sets my nerves on edge. I don’t want to do this.

I glance at Fletcher, whose expression has shifted into something protective. “Yes,” I say, forcing the word past the lump forming in my throat.

The male steps forward, his tone softening. “I’m sure you know who we’re with by now. Agents Carr and Dyer. We’d like to ask you some questions regarding your experience in the trafficking ring. Wefound some evidence pointing to other locations and dealings, but anything that you might have seen or heard could be helpful in furthering our investigation.”

Fletcher is by my side in an instant, his chair going flying behind him. “She’s been through enough. If you’re here to help her, fine. But if this is about dragging her through more hell?—”

“It’s not, Mr. Collins,” Agent Carr cuts in, her voice sharp but not unkind. “We’re not here to hurt her. We’re here to stop the people who did this to her from continuing to do it to others.”

“If you did your jobs properly, you’d know that the people who did this to her are already dead,” Fletcher growls out.

“You know what we mean. And you don’t have to decide right now,” Agent Dyer says, his tone measured. “But time is of the essence. If you’re willing, we’d like to meet with you at a safe location to talk more.

I glance back at Fletcher. His jaw is tight, and his eyes are locked on mine, silently asking what I want to do. “Can I have a few days?”

“Of course. Here are our cards in the meantime, when you’re ready to reach out.” Agent Carr holds out two different business cards and Fletcher grabs both of them, putting them in his pocket.

“Let’s get you home.”

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