When I finished the last page, Harris took the document and tapped it against the table to align the edges.

“Thank you, Mr. Vargas,” he said, his tone entirely professional.

“Can I go now?” Marcus asked, his voice eager and pathetic.

“You are free to go, Marcus,” Elena said. “The transport will take you to the train station.”

Marcus stood up quickly, his chair scraping against the linoleum.

He looked at me, his eyes wide and uncertain.

“Thank you, Uncle,” he said.

“Do not come back to this city, Marcus,” I said, not looking up at him. “There is nothing left for you here.”

“I won’t,” he said.

He turned and left the room, his footsteps fading down the long, quiet hallway.

I remained in my chair, the heavy wool coat still draped over my shoulders.

“You did the right thing,” Elena said after the door closed.

“There is no right thing, Elena,” I said. “There is only what is left.”

“You saved his life,” she said.

“I saved his life because I took everything else from him,” I said. “He has no name now.”