Lily was there, too, 13 years old, doing homework at the same table where Emmett had eaten his first safe meal 6 years ago.
"How was the first day?" Luther asked.
"Hard," Emmett said honestly. "Saw a lot of families who reminded me of mine."
"You helped them?"
"I'm going to try."
"Good," Luther said. "That's all anyone can do."
Emmett sat down.
Lily looked up from her homework.
"Emmett, guess what?"
"What?"
"I got an A on my science test."
"That's great, Lily."
She beamed, went back to her homework.
Emmett watched her for a moment.
The same little girl who'd said Daddy's angels in a storm 6 years ago.
The same girl who'd somehow known where the angels lived when Emmett didn't.
Luther caught him looking.
"You thinking about that night?"
"Yeah."
"Me, too," Luther said quietly. "Every day."
They sat in comfortable silence.
Then Luther stood, walked to a frame on the wall.
The birthday card.
Daddy's angels.
The ink still run.
Next to a photo of a young girl, Reese, age four.
"Never found her," Luther said, voice even, controlled. "Reese or Dwayne. FBI's still looking. Seven of the 13 from Facility 7 are still missing, but we found six. Six people who were lost for over a decade, now safe."
He turned back to Emmett.
"And we changed the system so it can't happen again. That has to count for something."
Emmett stood, walked over to stand next to Luther.
"It counts for everything," he said.
Luther put his hand on Emmett's shoulder.
"You did good, kid. Real good. You took what happened to you and turned it into something that helps people. That's the hardest thing there is."
"I learned from the best," Emmett said.
Luther smiled, a real one.
"Yeah, you did."
Luther stood outside the clubhouse that night after everyone had gone home, leaned against his bike, looked up at the stars.
His phone buzzed.
Message from a number he didn't recognize.
Mr. Burnham, my name is Sarah Chen. I'm a social worker in Oregon. I just found your brother, Dwayne. He's safe. He's been in a care facility here since 2011. The records were misfiled. He asks about you every day. He remembers you. Would you like to talk to him?
Luther stared at the message for a long time.
His hands shook.
Then he typed:
Yes. God, yes.
The response came fast.
Calling now.
The phone rang.
Luther answered.
"Luther?"
A voice, familiar, older, but the same.