“How do you know about my sister?” I finally asked. “Two reasons. First, I looked at your file.” The file. Always the fucking file, my life history laid out as if I were a used car. With a deep breath, I resigned myself to hearing whatever she had to say next. “And second?” “Second,” she continued, “because I sent her a message on my computer this morning. And tonight, I got a reply. Her name is Maeve, by the way.”
