The hallway was cold, even in the height of summer.
Each step Rose took echoed sharply off the concrete walls of the prison, her boots clicking in rhythm with the pounding of her heart. The lights above flickered slightly — harsh, sterile, unforgiving. Just like the place itself.
She had imagined this moment a hundred times over the years. Sometimes she pictured herself screaming at him, demanding answers. Other times she imagined walking away without saying a word. But now that she was actually here, standing just beyond the visiting room's thick security door, she felt only one thing:
Numb.
A guard motioned for her to enter. Rose nodded, barely hearing him. Her fingers trembled slightly as she walked to the table on the other side of the thick glass.
And there he was.
Jake.
His hair was longer, messier, and his jaw was covered in a rough layer of stubble. But his eyes — those deep, familiar eyes — hadn't changed. They still held that same mix of protectiveness and pain she remembered. The same storm she'd once tried to draw but could never quite capture.
He looked up and froze the moment he saw her.
"Rose," he breathed, his voice muffled through the phone on his side of the glass.
She picked up her receiver slowly, her fingers pale against the plastic.
"Hi," she said softly.
A beat passed. His hands clenched around the cord. He was not sure that he was really hearing her voice.
"You're talking. I wasn't sure you'd ever come," Jake said, his voice rough.
"I took a lot of therapy after leaving Greyson. I didn't know what to believe," she replied. "But I do now."
His eyes darkened. "She told you."
Rose nodded. "Everything. About our parents. About the medicine. About Ms. Moore. Whitlock. You."
Jake leaned back slowly, as if the weight of the truth had just fallen all over again. "I tried to protect you."
"I know."
He blinked, caught off guard. "You believe me?"
She nodded. "You were trying to silence the people who hurt me. Not me."
Jake swallowed hard. "I couldn't let them take more from you. You were already so broken, Rose. After they drugged you… after Mom and Dad… you changed. I knew you remembered something — in your sketches, in the way you looked at certain places. And they knew it too. They thought you were a threat."
"So you killed Ms. Moore," she said bluntly.
Jake didn't deny it. "I went to confront her. I just wanted to scare her. But she panicked. Started screaming about telling the police everything — even about Aunt Marian. She was going to flip on everyone to save herself. I... I snapped. I didn't plan it."
"And Whitlock?" Rose asked.
Jake hesitated. "I never got the chance. Crane came too fast. And Marian went quiet. She let me take the fall. Just like that."
Rose looked down at her hands. "You let me hate you all these years."
Jake's voice softened. "I thought if you hated me, you'd be safer. You'd stay away from all of it. I didn't want you digging deeper."
"I did anyway," she whispered. "I always felt something was off. The silence didn't feel right. It never did."
Jake's eyes filled with emotion. "You have no idea how proud I am of you. For surviving. For leaving Greyson. For building something better."
She bit her lip. "You should have told me the truth."
"I was afraid it would break you," he replied. "Now I know… it would've freed you."
They sat in silence for a long moment, the hum of the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
Rose finally spoke, "You're not a monster, Jake. You were just a boy trying to protect his sister… in the only way he knew how."
Jake smiled — a sad, worn smile. "Still feels like I failed."
"No," she said firmly. "You saved me, even if it cost you everything."
A guard tapped his watch behind the glass. Their time was up.
Rose stood slowly, her hand pressed briefly against the glass. Jake mirrored her.
As she turned to leave, he called out, "Rose?"
She looked back.
"Don't stop drawing. Your hands always knew the truth… even when we didn't."
Her throat tightened. She nodded once — and walked away.
For the first time in years, Rose didn't feel like a victim of her past. She felt like someone finally reclaiming it.