(Etienne's Point Of View)
I changed my flight.
I couldn't wait two more days. Not when I had the evidence that would clear Isobel's name. Not when I finally had proof that none of it was her fault.
The folder sat in my bag like a small, heavy promise. Maintenance records, emails, threaded messages — everything that showed Vivienne's negligence, everything that pointed to the truth, pressed together and stiff at the spine. Even the paper smelled faintly of old ink and printer toner, a domestic, bureaucratic smell that suddenly felt like a weapon.
I'd tell Isobel everything. Who I was. Why I'd come back. And most importantly, that she'd carried guilt that was never hers to carry.
