"Cyril," Vasilis said with a nod when he saw me behind Kieran. No surprise colored his tone or expression, as if I hadn't run away eight years ago and ignored any attempt at contact since.
Letters spilled over the floor. Dozens of them, written on the same yellowed paper as the one I held in my hand. I scooped them back into the box and took it with me when I left.
Few people know me, but I know many people. That's a skill that comes from living in the shadows and gaining knowledge through observation. It sounds bad, I know, but I didn't have a lot of options.