Epilogue
NATE
Three Months Later
You know, I’m starting to remember what it feels like to wake up without my first thought being about where I can score.
Small victories, Dr. Hawthorne calls them.
I call them fucking miracles.
The routine at Haven Ridge has become almost comforting.
Mornings start with meditation—which I fought like hell against for the first month—then group therapy, where Harry and I have become the unofficial comic relief.
After that, the one-on-one sessions that strip me raw but leave me lighter each time.
I’ve gained weight, real weight that makes me look healthier than when I walked into this place, and my hands don’t shake when I hold a coffee anymore.
Harry’s been my anchor through most of this.
Turns out having a roommate who’s as broken as you are—just in a different flavor—is its own kind of therapy.
He’s getting out next week, heading to some Malibu sober-living palace where his family can pretend he’s “healing spiritually” instead of clawing his way back from the edge.
I’m writing in my notebook, lyrics to a song I might someday sing—something Dr. Hawthorne told me to pick up again when I mentioned I used to draw with Jake—when a staff member approaches.
“Nate, you have a visitor.”
I look up, confused.
“Nick’s not supposed to be here till Friday.”
“It’s not Nick. He’s waiting in the visitor’s lounge.”
My stomach knots. There’s only one person who should never know where I am—and if he’s found me here, it’s over.
I walk the hallway with my heart pounding, every step a countdown.
But when I push open the lounge doors, it’s not who I think it’s going to be. The man sitting there is tall, composed, sharp around the edges. Dark hair, wire-rimmed glasses, an English accent that rolls out smooth when he says,
“Nate Sullivan. Finally, we meet.”
“Adrian?” I say slowly, connecting the dots.
Jay’s elusive contact and the ghost in the background who somehow always knew things he shouldn’t.
“Nice to finally meet you in person,” he replies, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
There’s a dangerous calm about him — the kind of man who wins wars without ever raising his voice.
I sit down, unsure why he’s here.
“What are you doing here?”
“Visiting a friend in the program,” he says lightly. “But when I heard you were too, I thought it was finally time we met. I hear you’re getting out soon.”
“Yeah.”
He studies me. “How does that feel?”
I laugh under my breath. “Like I’m walking out of a burning building and leaving half of myself inside.”
He tilts his head, considering.
“Fair.” Then, after a pause: “Still, walking out is the point, isn’t it?”
He reaches into his bag, sets a plain folder and an old phone on the table. His movements are deliberate, almost reverent.
“Your brother was a good kid,” he says. “And this—” he gestures to the folder “—is his final gift to you. His way of finishing what he started.”
I stare at the folder like it might detonate.
“What’s in it?”
“Proof,” he says simply. “And a message.”
He pushes the items toward me and stands, adjusting his jacket and then his gaze is steady.
“Opportunities don’t announce themselves, Nate. They show up disguised as pain. The world doesn’t owe you anything—people don’t either. But sometimes, when you finally stop running, it gives you exactly what you need.”
Then he’s gone, just like that.
The phone and folder sit in front of me, humming with unspoken weight. My hands tremble as I pick them up—not from withdrawal, but from something new.
Fear.
Hope even.
The dangerous kind that asks you to believe again.
Back in my room, I open the folder and a sticky note sits on top.
“Watch videos.”
Below it, the passcode is written in Jake’s handwriting.
Our birthdates.
My chest tightens.
The phone unlocks to a single file and Jake’s face fills the screen—tired, older than eighteen should look. There are shadows under his eyes. It’s the kind of exhaustion you can’t just sleep off because it runs bone deep.
“Alright Nate,” he says softly. “If you’re watching this, I guess things went the way I thought they might, which kind of sucks.” He laughs once, bitter and small, and runs a hand through his hair. The same nervous habit he’s had since he was a kid.
“I’ve been collecting evidence. On Dad, on the organisation, on everything. You tried to tell me, and I didn’t listen. Honestly, I thought I could fix it. I thought, if I could prove what he was doing, we could all get out clean. You, me and Mom.”
The camera shakes, he’s fighting back tears. So am I.
“You were right about everything,” he says, quieter now, like the words are fragile. “And I’m sorry I made you feel crazy when all you were trying to do was save us. You were the only one who ever tried.”
My chest tightens. I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until it burns.
He lifts his gaze again, eyes steadier than they should be for someone saying goodbye.
“I had to make him believe I was on his side. Every time I agreed with him, every time I called you a fuck-up—I didn’t mean it. Not once.” His jaw flexes, tension rippling through it. “I was trying to protect you. But he’s starting to suspect me now. I can see it.”
My fingers curl around the phone, knuckles whitening.
“And if anything happens to me,” he continues, voice roughening just enough to give him away, “you need to know this. I was always on your side, Nate. Always.”
He drags in a breath that shakes, like it hurts to keep going.
“You told me once that loyalty isn’t about obedience. It’s about doing what’s right, even when it costs you everything.” His mouth twitches, something like a smile trying to survive. “You taught me that. You’ve always been my hero—even when you thought you failed me.”
My throat tightens. I swallow, hard, like I can force the words back into him.
“I was proud to be your brother,” he says, softer now. “Still am.”
His eyes shine, wet but unbroken, and that somehow makes it worse.
“I guess the elephant in the room is… if you’re watching this, it means I didn’t make it.” He exhales slowly, gathering himself. “So here’s what I need you to hear.”
He looks straight into the camera. Straight at me. I feel pinned in place.
“Don’t waste your life on guilt, man. Be happy. Be free.” His voice cracks on the last word. “You’re gonna have to live for both of us now.”
I shake my head, a quiet, useless denial.
“Tell Mom I love her.” He hesitates, then adds, “And Nate…”
The pause stretches. My heart stutters.
Then he smiles—small and familiar, the kind he always gave me when things were about to be okay, even when they weren’t.
“I love you too,” he says gently. “I always did.”
The screen goes black.
I don’t move.
I just sit there, the phone dead weight in my hands, my fingers numb around its edges. The silence that follows isn’t empty—it presses in, thick and breathing, like it’s waiting to see what I’ll do now that he’s gone.
The folder holds what Jake promised—evidence that ties our father to everything.
Financial documents, photos, even a police report that proves Nora’s “accident” wasn’t an accident at all. Jake had been methodical about everything.
And at the bottom, a letter.
I know you’ll try to blame yourself. Please don’t.
I know how your mind works—you’ll spiral, shut people out, numb yourself until nothing gets through.
That’s why I asked Adrian to wait. Not until you said you were better, but until you actually were.
Until you weren’t just surviving, but living again.
Take the time you need and do whatever you have to, to get back to the old Nate, the brother I remember you were. Because Nate, the world is better with you in it—even if you can’t see that yet.
— Jake
I fold the letter carefully, smoothing the creases like it’s something sacred. Jake had seen everything and he’d known what Scott was.
Known what I’d become and still he believed in me.
Enough to make a plan that would outlive him.
Enough to give me a reason to live again.
I lie back on my bed, the folder on my chest, the phone still warm in my hand. The ceiling above me is the same dull white it’s been for months but tonight, the specks look like stars.
Jake always loved constellations.
That’s why I learned them—whatever I could, however I could. So when we were kids and he dragged me outside, pointing up with that excited, reckless grin and asking me to name them, I could.
Orion. Cassiopeia. Perseus.
Nora once told me that stars are proof that even in the darkest sky, something is always burning bright enough to guide you home. I think now maybe she wasn’t talking about the sky at all.
Maybe she was talking about moments like this.
In four weeks, I’ll walk out of Haven Ridge clean, clear-headed, and carrying my brother’s legacy. The evidence he gathered will put Scott away for good.
I touch the folded letter one last time, whispering the words I never got to say.
“You’ll always be my little brother, Jake. Always.”
Outside, the mountains are painted in silver light.
The world is still broken but for the first time in years, I’m not.
Some wounds never close.
But maybe they’re not meant to—maybe they’re reminders of what’s worth fighting for.
To be continued…