Lincoln stood at the door of Ryan Quinn’s house with Moira’s hat clutched in his hand, waiting for the door to open. He leaned against the doorframe as he caught his breath. He pounded on the door. Time was dragging on longer than he could bear.

“What the hell is …” Ryan swung the door open and threw on his smile as he spotted Lincoln. “Oh, Mr Clarke, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company this night?” Ryan’s façade faded as he spotted the hat clutched between his hands. “What happened?”

Lincoln passed him the hat. “There is something you should know.”

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