The summer after graduation stretched before me, vast and unnervingly empty. It was the first summer in a year not haunted by a secret, not punctuated by clandestine meetings at the plaza. The frantic energy of the investigation had been replaced by a profound stillness. Leo was busy, interning at a computer repair shop in town, his mind already focused on his tech degree in Manila. Ms. Liza had taken a leave of absence to be with her mother, whose name had been finally and publicly cleared.
I spent my days helping my dad with small repairs around the house, the mindless physical labor a welcome distraction from the quiet in my head. The sounds of Nasugbu—the tricycles, the vendors, the distant ocean—were the same, but the filter through which I heard them had changed. The magic was gone. The world had reverted to its mundane state, and I felt unmoored, a boat adrift after losing its anchor. I'd often catch myself walking towards the old safe house or the plaza out of habit, only to stop, the purpose gone. The victory had been for Luna, for her father, for justice. I was left with the echo of it, trying to remember what my own life was supposed to be about.