The second letter arrived on a Thursday morning, ten days before the parole hearing, delivered not by Harrison Wells or any legal courier but by standard prison mail—a plain white envelope with Alexander Kane's prisoner identification number stamped in the corner and my name written across the front in his small, precise handwriting.
Kevin found it during his morning security sweep, the same sweep he had been conducting every day since the first letter arrived seventeen months ago. He brought it to the war room with an expression that immediately silenced every conversation in progress. Sophie's typing stopped. Nathan's guitar fell silent. Lucas's ears shifted from Shade #FOCUSED to Shade #ALERT in the space of a single heartbeat.
