Elias looked at the photograph for a long time. Nolan could see him remembering the day it had been taken: the bar, the men, the weather, the small hand gripping the jacket. His own memory of that day was absent, but it was enough to watch the moment remain alive in someone who had been there.
"I didn't know anyone took this," Elias said. "I remember you were tired. There was a club gathering, and Carla had come by to bring me something I'd forgotten. You wouldn't let go of my jacket when she said it was time to leave."
"Looks like I was holding on pretty tight."
"You were."
Nolan turned the cut so the hidden stitching faced outward. Elias stared at the four words, his expression softer than any Nolan had yet seen. His fingers rested on the thread without tracing it, as if the words were something he had promised aloud only yesterday.
"You did protect me," Nolan said. "I know that now. I'm here because you and Mom kept me safe."
Elias looked at him with an expression that mixed gratitude and regret. "I didn't protect you from growing up without me."
"No," Nolan answered. "You didn't. Both things are true."
They let that remain between them for a while. The room darkened, and the broken coffee machine clicked faintly as metal cooled near the window. Nolan realized he had stopped measuring how much time remained before the drive home; he was no longer thinking about leaving on schedule.
"The investigation is moving," he said. "They'll need your testimony. Your name can be cleared, at least as far as the evidence allows. Silas wants you to come home, but that's not why I'm asking."
"You're asking?"
"I am." Nolan sat forward. "I grew up without a father. I'm twenty-six. You're alive, and so am I. I don't know what being your son is supposed to look like now, but I'd rather find out than spend the rest of my life wondering."
Elias looked at him for a long time. He had made an entire identity out of not looking back, and Nolan could see how frightening the idea of undoing it had become. Returning would mean facing the club, the authorities, his own choices, and the grave of the woman he'd loved from a distance for most of his adult life.
"I don't know how to come back," Elias said. "I've been Daniel Cross longer than I was allowed to be Elias Vance. I've learned to be invisible."
"Then we start small," Nolan replied. "You get in the truck. We drive. You can fix my coffee maker when we get home, because that one's broken too. We can argue about engines, eat bad diner food, and figure out the harder parts when we get there."
Elias laughed then, unexpectedly, a real sound that began deep in his chest and surprised him as much as it surprised Nolan. He covered his mouth afterward, as if the laughter had escaped without permission. Nolan found himself smiling in response.
"Your mother used to make me laugh like that," Elias said. "Usually when I was taking myself far too seriously."
"Sounds like she had a lot of practice."
Elias looked toward the window. The street outside had grown dark, and the town's few lights reflected on the damp pavement. At last he nodded, very slowly.