Saturday arrived without announcement, the way Saturdays often did at the lake — the same light, the same birds, the same slow unfolding of a day that belonged to no one but itself. Aaron woke to the sound of Sophie's shower running and lay still, watching the morning light shift across the ceiling, and let himself exist without purpose.
He had forgotten what that felt like. For months, every morning had arrived with a question — who was the woman in the photograph, where had the money come from, what would Keller Stone find, when would Beck be caught. The questions had driven him forward, had given each day a shape and a direction. Now the questions were answered, and the shape of the day was his to choose.
Sophie emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, her hair wet, her skin still warm from the steam. She crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, her hand finding his through the sheets.
"You're awake."
"I'm awake."
"What do you want to do today?"
