The Name Felt Too Light

It is humiliating how much I wanted those volunteers to know it was me. Public courage says let them cheer; privately I wanted their voices to stitch my name into the fact that I had found the stencil at all. Their relief made me feel larger for half a minute. Then I remembered I had needed a room full of strangers to make myself feel legitimate again.

Declan handed over the dashcam copy, but I cannot count it as a complete confession. He told the useful truth and kept whatever makes the buyers look worse than he does. I understand self-preservation too well to insult him by pretending otherwise.

The worse problem is the planted clues around my old claim mark. My split notch is supposed to be something I invented, but unexplained evidence sitting beside it makes every private instinct look rehearsed. Rosa Malik will want dates, names, and certainty. I can give her the copy and the facts. I cannot give her a feeling I have never trusted myself to name.

I keep circling the thought that the find I have never declared is becoming a door other people may open before I do. Shame, sharp and immediate. Possibility, worse.

Tonight I secured the dashcam copy and tried to wash the depot from my hands. The dust came away. The feeling of being cleared did not.