Raven: The Silent Keeper

Kyle put the last batch of returned books on the shelf and glanced at the clock on the wall.

4:53 PM.

Oak Town Community Library would close in seven minutes. At this hour, no one else would be coming in.

He returned to the front desk, sat down, and opened the book on the table—Birds of the Pacific Northwest Field Guide.

On the third page was a yellowed photograph—a woman holding a baby, standing by a lake somewhere, the sunlight just right, snow-capped mountains visible in the distance.

Kyle looked at it for three seconds, then closed the book.

Two years ago, he was "Raven"—the youngest top agent in a certain organization. Infiltration, assassination, intelligence gathering. Fifteen countries had him on their wanted lists, nine fake identities hidden in bank safety deposit boxes around the world.

Then he took a job he shouldn't have taken.

Then that woman died.

The baby was sent to an orphanage.

The official story was "mission accident." He knew it wasn't.

Now he was Kyle Morrison, temporary manager of Oak Town Community Library, $11.50 an hour, no health insurance, no retirement plan.

Perfect for atonement.

The door was pushed open.

Kyle looked up and saw a small head peeking through the doorway, blonde hair, blue eyes, about seven years old.

"Kyle!" She ran in, her backpack bouncing behind her. "Grandma said to pick me up at the library today!"

Amy Harper.

Dorothy Harper's granddaughter. A year ago, Dorothy rented him the attic of that old house on Maple Street, on the condition that he "occasionally help pick up the kid from school." It later became every day.

"Library closes in five minutes," Kyle said.

"I know." Amy leaned against the front desk and pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket. "Look at this!"

The drawing showed three people: an old woman, a little girl, and a man. The man sat behind a desk with books piled high in front of him.

"What's this?" Kyle asked.

"A librarian," Amy said seriously. "My new work, called Book Hero."

Kyle stared at the drawing for three seconds.

"Doesn't Book Hero read books?"

Amy paused, looked down at the drawing, and frowned. "Oh yeah. He has so many books in front of him, but none of them are open."

"Add that tomorrow."

"Okay."

Amy shoved the drawing at him and ran toward the children's section.

Kyle watched her back, thinking of the baby in that photograph.

In the orphanage adoption records, her name was Amy Harper. Mother died in an accident, father unknown.

He knew it wasn't true.

Five minutes later, Amy came back with a stack of books and plopped them on the counter.

"I want to borrow these."

Kyle glanced at them: Knights and Dragons, The Secret of the Castle, Adventures in the Enchanted Forest.

"All fighting and killing?"

"It's not fighting and killing," Amy corrected him. "They're stories about heroes."

Kyle said nothing and started scanning.

Outside the window, a black Chevy Suburban slowly drove past, stopped in front of the library for about three seconds, then turned onto Main Street and disappeared from view.

Kyle's hands didn't stop moving.

But he memorized the license plate—Oregon plates. Off-road tires, a half-smoked cigar on the passenger seat.

At 7 PM, Kyle returned to 412 Maple Street.

Dorothy was making stew in the kitchen, Amy was lying on the living room floor continuing her drawing.

"Kyle," she said without looking up, "why do knights have to rescue princesses?"

"Because princesses need rescuing."

"But can't princesses rescue themselves?"

Kyle thought for a moment. "Some princesses can. But not the one in this story."

"So is this knight really good?"

"Should be."

"Better than you?"

Kyle didn't answer.

Outside the window, that black Suburban appeared again, this time parked at the corner where Willowbrook Street met Maple Street, engine still running.

Dorothy poked her head out from the kitchen. "Kyle, stew's ready."

"Coming."

He walked into the kitchen, but his peripheral vision stayed on the window.

That car was still there.

At 10 PM, Kyle sat by the attic window with the lights off.

The curtain had a small gap, just enough to see that corner.

The car was still there.

His phone lit up.

A message from a number he'd saved three years ago—a Seattle number. The person was a private investigator who owed him his life.

"Raven, someone's looking into you. Not your old employers. Different people. They've been active around Klamath County lately."

Kyle stared at the screen.

Different people.

He knew who they were.

During that mission years ago, he'd found something he shouldn't have—about Amy's background. About how her mother really died. About that so-called "accident."

He hid the evidence in a safety deposit box at a Portland bank, sent Amy to the orphanage, and disappeared.

Two years.

They'd finally found him.

His phone lit up again: [What do they want?]

Kyle typed: [A child.]

The other end was silent for a long time.

Then replied:

[Raven, what the hell did you get yourself into?]

Kyle didn't respond.

He stared at the car outside.

The people in the car probably thought that in the dark, from two blocks away, Kyle couldn't see them.

They didn't know that Kyle had once taken out three fully armed targets with his bare hands in complete darkness.

Kyle stood up and walked toward the door.

Halfway there, he stopped.

From downstairs came soft breathing—Amy was asleep, probably still holding that copy of Knights and Dragons.

He stood there for three seconds.

Then turned around and went back to the window.

Not tonight.

Tonight they were just watching.

Tomorrow then.

At 7:15 AM, Kyle took Amy to Sunnybrook Academy.

The Suburban was no longer at the corner, replaced by another vehicle, a dark blue Ford Explorer.

Amy held his hand, chattering about the story from yesterday's book.

"Then the dragon breathed fire, and the knight blocked it with his shield, but the shield burned up! What now, Kyle?"

"The knight still has his sword."

"Right! He has a sword! And then—"

"Amy."

She looked up.

Kyle crouched down and looked into her eyes.

"After school today, go straight home. Take Main Street, don't take the side roads. No matter who talks to you, don't respond. Go straight to 412 Maple Street. Got it?"

Amy froze, then nodded. "Got it."

"Good girl."

He stood up and watched her run through the school gate and disappear down the hallway.

Then he turned and walked toward that dark blue Ford.

He knocked on the window.

The window rolled down, revealing a man's face—ordinary, thirties, eyes that showed he'd been in this line of work for years.

"Can I help you, sir?" the man asked.

Kyle looked at him, said nothing.

Three seconds later, the man's expression changed—that look of recognizing one of your own kind.

Kyle spoke, his voice quiet.

"Go back and tell your boss. The kid's with me. If he wants her, come himself."

He turned and walked away.

Behind him, the car sat for a long time before starting up and driving away, turning onto Oak Town's Main Street, heading south.

At 3:20 PM, Kyle was organizing shelves at Oak Town Community Library.

The door opened.

A woman walked in, around forty, dark suit, wearing a Patek Philippe on her wrist—the kind of person who had a penthouse in Seattle.

She walked to the front desk and looked at Kyle.

"I'd like to borrow a book," she said.

"What book?"

"A book about what happened two years ago."

Kyle's hands stopped moving.

The woman looked at him, a slight smile on her lips.

"Raven—or Kyle, as you're called now—I've been looking for a long time."

Kyle said nothing.

"Don't be nervous," the woman said. "I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to make a deal."

"What deal?"

The woman glanced around, then lowered her voice.

"I know whose child Amy is. I also know who killed her mother back then."

"That person," she said, "you can't kill him. Only I can."

"So I need you to do something for me. When it's done, I'll tell you the whole truth."

Kyle looked at her.

Three seconds.

"What is it?"

The woman smiled.