He found Emmett in the backyard sitting on the porch steps doing homework.
Normal teenage thing.
The kind of thing that shouldn't feel miraculous but did.
Luther didn't say anything.
Just sat down on the step next to him.
They sat in silence for a while.
Then Emmett spoke.
"They found three of them."
Luther didn't need to ask what he meant.
"Three of the 16 from Facility 7?"
"Yeah. FBI called yesterday. Three people tracked down and safe living in group homes in Virginia and Kentucky. They'd been placed there after the facility closed but the paperwork got lost. They're okay."
"That's good," Luther said quietly.
"13 still missing."
"I know."
Emmett set down his pencil, stared at his homework without seeing it.
"What if we don't find them all?"
Luther was quiet for a long time.
"Then we keep looking," he said finally. "For as long as it takes. And we make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else."
Emmett nodded.
Luther reached into his vest, pulled out the birthday card, the one from Lily's pocket.
Daddy's angels.
The ink still run, bleeding in blue rivers across the cardboard.
"I'm keeping this," Luther said. "Framing it. Putting it next to a photo I've carried for 18 years. The photo of a daughter I lost custody of in 2009 and haven't seen since."
He looked at Emmett.
"I don't know if I'll ever find Reese or Dwayne, but I know I found you and you found Lily, and sometimes that has to be enough to keep going."
Emmett's eyes were wet.
"I'm sorry you lost them."
"I'm sorry you lost your home."
They sat with that for a moment.
Then Luther stood, brushed off his jeans.
"You doing okay here?"
"Yeah. Aunt Nadine's good. She's... she listens."
"Good. That's good."
Luther walked toward his bike, stopped, looked back.
"Emmett?"
"Yeah?"
"You ever need anything, and I mean anything, you call. You hear me?"
"I hear you."
Luther nodded once, got on his bike.
The engine rumbled to life.
He pulled out onto the road and didn't look back.
Behind him, Emmett picked up his pencil and went back to his homework.
The afternoon light was warm.
The yard was quiet.
And for the first time since the eviction, the future felt like something he could see.
18 months later, Emmett stood in the McDowell County Courthouse lobby waiting for his name to be called.
He was wearing a button-down shirt Nadine had helped him pick out.
School shoes that were only slightly uncomfortable.
A folder in his hands containing a statement he'd written and rewritten six times.
Next to him, Nadine, Luther, Diesel, Sandstone.
The federal trial had taken 9 months.