Diane's povMy hands trembled as I unfolded the letter.The paper was old.Not yellow with age.Just... carefully preserved.I took a slow breath and began to read.Dear Diane,If you're reading this, then you've finally learned that peace can feel unfamiliar after living through chaos.If that's true... I'm happy for you.I frowned.Charles Holloway had written this years ago.Long before he'd ever met me.How could he possibly know—No.He wasn't writing to me.He was writing to whoever eventually found Project Sentinel.To the person who survived it.Somehow...His words still felt personal.For most of my life, I believed excitement and purpose were the same thing.They aren't.Purpose gives you direction.Peace gives you somewhere to return to.I stopped reading.My mind drifted to Zephyr.Saturday mornings.Monopoly.Burnt pancakes.Coffee.Quiet conversations.The way he always reached for my hand without thinking.The way he never demanded more from me than I was ready to give
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