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Annabelle's fingers traced absently over the names engraved on her back-up pistol. Edward Smithson, John Newfield, Marie Lee, James Smithson. Mentor, Father, Mother, and a man she'd never known except through stories. 'Memories captured in steel', as Edward had once described it. Annabelle had carried it for 16 years, but not for much longer. For reasons she couldn't quite explain, she didn't want to take it with her on what was likely to be her last adventure.

"I'd like to see my safety deposit box."

Annabelle couldn't recall if she had ever told the anyone in Æon about her account here. In any case, it was far too late to tell them now. Annabelle carefully placed the unloaded pistol and a letter into the safety deposit box. Like a man on a deserted island casting a message in a bottle into the unforgiving sea, she would never know if it would reach its intended recipients.
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