Daniel didn't move.

He couldn't.

"Sophie, I didn't know.

I swear to God I didn't know."

She kept her arms around Noah.

Her voice was low, controlled, like someone who had rehearsed staying calm for a very long time.

"You left that night before the f*re started.

You never came back."

"I got the call that you were already—" He stopped.

"They told me you didn't make it."

"Who told you?"

Daniel opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Sophie's eyes didn't leave his face.

"Who called you, Daniel?"

His jaw tightened.

"It was Marcus."

Something shifted in Sophie's expression.

Not surprise.

Something worse than surprise.

"Marcus," she repeated quietly.

"Your brother."

Noah was still pressed against her shoulder, too young to understand the words but old enough to feel the weight of them.

Sophie reached into her coat pocket with one hand and placed something on the bench beside her.

A phone.

Cracked screen.

Old model.

"I kept this," she said.

"Three years.

I kept it because of what's on it."

Daniel stared at the phone.

"Sophie—"

"There's a voicemail, Daniel." Her voice finally broke at the edges.

"Recorded the night of the f*re.

Before anyone called you."

She looked up at him, and this time there were no tears.

Just stillness.

"It's Marcus's voice."