The first envelope stopped his breath. It bore his name—Evan—in the same looping handwriting. His fingers trembled. Calder reached forward suddenly, snatching it away before Evan could open it. “Later,” Calder said, voice too quick, too forceful. “We don’t have time for sentiment.” Sentiment? The word rang strangely.
Evan pulled out a stack of documents beneath the envelope. At the top of one was a photograph: Calder standing beside a man Evan recognized from only one faded picture in his childhood bedroom. His pulse stuttered. Calder lunged to take the photo, but Evan held it tight, eyes widening.