That list steadied me more than sympathy could have.
I photographed Evelyn’s note beside the hotel stationery, then asked the manager to place the originals in a sealed envelope. The receptionist printed the checkout time and the reservation history. Another employee confirmed that Julian had asked whether the airport shuttle could leave earlier than originally scheduled. Each detail seemed small, but I knew from years of auditing that patterns are often built from ordinary records no one expects to matter later.
At the gate, I finally allowed myself to think about Maya rather than logistics.
She hated long flights. She always fell asleep with one hand curled into the fabric of whoever held her. I pictured her against Julian’s shoulder and had to fight the urge to call every number Martin had given me.
Instead, I followed instructions.
I ate something.
Charged the secure phone.
Wrote down every event I could remember while the timeline was fresh.
