"He really is a traitor."
Mr. Charlie's breathing felt heavy. His fingers were still gripping the edge of the folder as if letting go would turn everything into a nightmare far more real.
Seven years ago.
The night they stood in that narrow room reeking of formalin, staring at a report that did not match what they had seen at the scene. Bram had been the first to fall silent. Bram had been the first to make a decision.
Let me handle it. That was what Bram had said.
And now the bold ink highlighted it like a wound that had never healed.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Bram arrived, making Mr. Charlie close the folder slowly. He did not panic as he returned it to its original place, slipping it neatly among the other stacks exactly as it had been.
Bram entered with the remnants of rain on his shoulders. His suit was slightly damp, his hair darker from the water, his face calm as always.
"Have you been waiting long?" Bram asked lightly as he shut the door.
