Ethan beside her.
Leo on the floor building a dinosaur skeleton.
Her mother, Evelyn Lin, calmly poured tea.
“You knew?” Maya demanded.
Evelyn shrugged.
“I knew Ethan was alive.”
Ethan nearly dropped his cup.
“You knew?”
“For six years.”
Maya stared at her mother.
“You let me believe he was d/e/@/d?”
Evelyn gave Ethan a cold look.
“He asked me to.”
Maya slowly turned toward him.
Ethan lifted both hands.
“In my defense—”
“You have no defense.”
“Correct.”
Maya turned back.
“And the drive?”
Evelyn pointed toward an old cookie tin above the refrigerator.
Aaron opened it.
Inside were sewing buttons.
Photographs.
Old receipts.
And one tiny data module.
Aaron stared.
“You hid one of the most sensitive intelligence files in the country inside a cookie tin?”
Evelyn sipped her tea.
“No one in government ever checks a grandmother’s sewing supplies.”
Leo looked up.
“Grandma, you don’t sew.”
