Michael hesitated before accepting it. When he did take it, his fingers trembled almost imperceptibly as he unwrapped the cloth.
Brass gleamed dully underneath the overcast sky. It was a firefighter's badge, tarnished along its edges. A small dent marred one corner. Despite the damage, the name "McCabe" remained clearly visible, etched into the metal.
Michael's breath caught in his throat. His fingers hovered above the badge without touching it.
Recognition dawned on me. "Your father's."
Michael nodded, unable to speak.
Cameron explained how it came into his possession. "I found it washed up on the beach in Tahiti. I'd gone there to... understand what happened to my father. I needed to see where he died."
Rain began to fall again, gentle but persistent. Droplets gathered on Cameron's eyelashes as he continued.
"I was walking at sunrise, near where the yacht burned. Something caught the light at the tide line." He glanced at Michael. "I showed it to a local official. When I described where I'd found it, and he read the name McCabe, he knew that it must belong to you."
"And they told you where to find me?"
"News headlines travel around the world." Cameron shrugged. "It wasn't difficult."
Michael finally touched the badge, tracing the engraved letters with his thumb. Water beaded on the tarnished surface, gathering in the small imperfections. For a moment, I saw him not as the tactical officer I'd met in Tahiti but as a teenager who'd lost his father too young.
Cameron spoke again. "I'm still unclear on how it would end up there."
Michael nearly choked up as he explained. "I always kept it with me as a reminder of my father."
I slipped my hand into Michael's. His fingers curled around mine—strong, insistent, alive. The contact grounded us both in a surreal moment.
Cameron nodded. "There's probably a lot about my father's final hours we'll never know, but I thought this should find its way home."
The badge returned not when Michael thought he needed it but after proving he could live without it. After exposing Asphodel. After imprisonment. After pardons. After survival. The moment felt like the universe exhaling.
Cameron reached out to shake Michael's hand. "I should go."
Michael offered a tight grip. "Thank you. Maybe we can talk sometime after things settle."
Cameron smiled. "I'd like that."
As he disappeared back into the crowd, Michael stared down at the badge, turning it over in his palm.
I whispered, "He found his way back to you."
When we piled into a borrowed SUV, rain chased us uphill, drumming against the windows as Marcus drove. Michael sat beside me in the back seat, the badge resting in his open palm.
Marcus navigated toward Kerry Park without discussion. After thirty minutes of silence broken only by the rhythmic sweep of windshield wipers, we pulled into a small parking area overlooking Elliott Bay.
Miles exchanged a glance with Marcus. "We'll wait in the car. Take your time."
Michael nodded. We stepped out into the persistent drizzle, rain speckling our shoulders as we walked to the overlook railing.
Seattle spread beneath us in a panoramic portrait. The Space Needle pierced the low-hanging clouds, its observation deck disappearing into mist. Ferry boats carved white trails across the steel-gray water, and taillights pulsed along the waterfront.
I'd brought students here during my first year teaching—a field trip discussing how geography shaped the city's development. I remembered speaking passionately about sightlines and natural harbors and how humans build civilization around what they can see and reach.
Now, I stood silent. My academic background was inadequate to explain the magnitude of what we'd witnessed and survived.
Michael leaned against the railing, rain gathering in his short hair before running down his neck. The badge remained in his hand.
"I never thought I'd see it again." His voice was barely audible above the patter of the rain. "When I lost it in Tahiti, it was like losing him twice."
