Then she lifted one trembling hand and touched my cheek.
“You have Lucas’s eyes,” she whispered.
I covered her hand with mine.
“And your mouth, apparently.”
She smiled.
It was small, uncertain, and beautiful.
“Claire.”
“Yes.”
“My Claire.”
I leaned forward and rested my forehead against hers.
Thirty-one lost years stood between us, but for that moment they felt like a door rather than a wall.
Behind us, officers asked Lenora to stand.
She looked at me.
“Everything I built will become yours,” she said. “Without me, people will tear it apart.”
“I don’t want what you built.”
“You will.”
“No.”
She gave me a weary, almost pitying smile.
“Everyone wants power once they touch it.”
Carl’s voice suddenly returned through the speakers.
There had been one final segment.
“Claire, should Lenora tell you that everyone wants power, please remember our last game of chess.”
A tearful laugh escaped me.
