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It was three pages long. In the paper dated for the day after, there were four more pages about Walt’s family and the criminal charges involved with their murders, and two pages about Toji’s, which Annie ran to go print.

Yulia got up from the worn-down library chair so Hollis could sit.

So he could stare at Walt’s face without crumpling to the floor.

Hollis touched the screen even though he knew they weren’t allowed to, and Yulia didn’t say a single word about it.

She was watching him. He could feel her eyes burning into the side of his head, but it was hard to focus on that when everything was roaring, static, blackening at the edges.

Walt was making an expression Hollis had only ever seen him make with their face.

Eyebrow raised as if to say Get a load of this shit , with a twist to his mouth that betrayed how nervous he was to start work. His hair was greased down, and it was curly, just as he promised.

His jaw was a bit stronger than Hollis anticipated, his ears stuck out a little more. It made Hollis want to weep.

Walt looked terribly young and incomprehensibly old. The soft collar of his work uniform was a bit scrunched and messy.

We couldn’t afford starch.

Shh.

More than anything, Hollis focused on Walt’s eyes. Eyes he’d been staring at for months. His own eyes, now.

The only picture of Walt his mother had: A “missing” photo on yellowing paper, from a moment when he’d been happy. And he had dimples, just like he’d said.

Yulia put a hand on their shoulder. Walt jerked, startled, and looked up at her.

She was smiling.

“Nice to finally meet you, Walter Eidelman. I’m Yulia.”