"Does Derek know?"
"I don't know. Things have been moving fast." He handed me a folder. "Use your own judgment." Then he was gone before I could ask more.
Derek found me a few minutes later, looking older than he had that morning — not years older, *truth* older.
"You didn't have to help in there," he said.
"I didn't do it for you."
"I know." He slipped his hands in his pockets. "I thought success would make me less afraid. It just gave me more to lose." A pause. "I'm not saying that to excuse anything."
"No," I said. "It doesn't."
He reached into his jacket, and for one irrational second I braced for the black card again. Instead, he pulled out a small silver key.
"The old apartment," he said. "I kept it. Told myself I never got around to returning it. That was a lie."
I stared at it in his palm and didn't reach for it.
