Three days passed. Three days of Archie half-sneaking around his own house, flinching at every creak in the floor.

Grandpa had drifted in and out of lucidity ever since the . . . the bad day. Archie saw him fluctuate, but from a distance. He’d been steering around his grandfather, making himself scarce in subtle ways that he hoped no one would notice.

The house was quieter now to keep distractions to a minimum. Grandpa’s daily activities, and his heaviest meal, were moved from evening to afternoon, when he was the most aware. The family took turns going on walks with him, trying to keep his body and mind active. Aunt Candace was almost ready to hire a nurse, which should help relieve some pressure.

Archie just needed space and time to himself. Time to think, to adjust to all these changes, to figure out how he really felt about what he’d learned. Whenever that space began to shrink, his anxiety skyrocketed.

It didn’t help that the next project meeting drew ever closer and Archie still had no clue what to do. He’d begun to fear he was doomed to a life of flailing around, never able to make a decision or pick a direction. His friends would all go off to careers and families and he’d just be standing there, shrugging.

So, once again, he’d turned to books for inspiration. But instead of burying his head in fantasy, Archie had checked out two biographies from the library—one about J. R. R. Tolkien, the other about Alex Haley. He’d just finished the Tolkien bio and was starting on Haley’s now. He absorbed every detail he could in search of lessons for his own life. All that nervous energy meant he couldn’t sit still, so he found himself slowly walking while he read. Only a small piece of his mind was aware of his body wandering around the yard and then through the house, turning page after page until—

“Hey, Fletch.”

Archie flinched, nearly dropping the book. He’d wandered into the kitchen without realizing it. One look at Grandpa’s face revealed that this was a very good day. The old Raymond Reese sat at the table, eating a snack.

“Oh,” Archie breathed. “Hi.”

Anxiety roared back, buzzing through him like hornets. Archie glanced left and right, fighting the urge to close the book and run somewhere. Anywhere.

It must have shown on his face. Grandpa watched, his own expression pinching. To anyone else, it would have been imperceptible. To Archie, it was like seeing an open wound. Great—now he’d hurt Grandpa, and he could add guilt to the list of feelings to deal with.

Looking unsure, Grandpa gestured to the chair across from him. His voice was almost pleading. “Sit with me? Just for a little bit?”

Archie complied, willing himself to relax and only partially succeeding. Grandpa stared down at his hands for a long moment. Long enough that Archie wondered if they were going to just sit there in silence.

“I know you read the Journal entries,” Grandpa finally said.

Archie’s whole body tensed.

Looking at him now, Grandpa held up a hand. “It’s okay. After what happened, I would’ve done the same.” He pursed his lips in concern. “How are you feeling about it?”

Archie sat back, caught off guard. It was such a simple, direct question—one that nobody had asked him in a while. “I—well, I mean, it was . . . but you’re you, and so I . . .” Archie shook his head. Even he had no clue what he was trying to say. “I mean, it was so long ago. Does that change, or—I mean, should it . . .”

He gave up with a shrug, and then his shoulders sagged in defeat. He stared down at the table. For a quiet moment, Grandpa only watched. When he did speak, his voice was soft.

“But it was not easy to pretend, anymore, that he was a hero in a story.”

Archie recognized the quote from The Eye of the World by Robert Jordan, the first book in a series he and Grandpa had shared.

“A good person says what he means, Fletch, and he does what he says. If he makes mistakes, he owns up to them, and tries to do better next time,” Grandpa said. “He does it even when it’s hard. Even when he’s afraid. I’ve told you that before, and I know it’s true because . . . because I’ve learned it the hard way.”

Archie looked up at him, unsure how to respond.

“I don’t blame you for having doubts,” Grandpa continued. “I did, every time I looked at myself in the mirror. I used to stare at myself and think, Why didn’t you ask more questions? Why didn’t you make sure those orders were right, no matter who gave them? They may have pointed the gun, but I pulled the trigger. And now I live with those memories because I can’t go back and change them. All I can do is move forward and make better choices, and I’ve been trying to do that ever since.”

He turned to gaze out the window, at the golden afternoon light filtering through the trees. A tear fell from his eye.

“I won’t pretend I’ve left that day behind, because I never have. I never wanted to. It reminds me of the person I worked to become afterward. Pushed me to be that person every day, to be a force for good. A shield instead of a sword. I . . .”

He trailed off. Swallowing hard, he cleared a lump from his throat.

“I would have told you myself, soon. I only regret that you learned it from a book and not from me, and at the worst possible time. But I don’t regret that you know.”

He turned back, meeting Archie’s eye.

“I tried to be an example as you grew up. Tried to teach you, in the best ways I knew, to care about others, to value honesty and kindness and fairness, to do the right thing even when it’s hard or scary. And if I’m honest, it felt good to see you looking up to me. So maybe I tried too hard to hide my own mistakes. Maybe I accidentally taught you that being a good person was the same as being perfect. If I did, that’s on me. You were always going to learn at some point that no one can be perfect.”

Grandpa smiled wistfully.

“And yeah, I’m . . . I’m embarrassed that you know my worst failures. Ashamed, even. But in an odd way, I’m glad this happened now, before I forget myself completely. At least this way, we can talk through it together, help it all mean something.”

Archie felt like he should say something comforting or understanding. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. It was just—what could he say? How should he say it?

Grandpa must have seen his dilemma. With a nod, he stood. “You’re smarter and stronger than I was at your age, Fletch. I know you’ll come through this the right way. However you end up feeling—about all of it—I trust you, and I understand.” He turned to leave, then hesitated. “You’re my hero too, you know.”

Archie’s jaw fell open. What?

When Grandpa had disappeared upstairs, Archie sat alone at the kitchen table, trying to make sense of everything he’d heard. Doing the right thing had always seemed simple to him. But if Grandpa could get so tangled up, then maybe choosing the right path wasn’t always so easy. Maybe even a good person could get lost.

Archie couldn’t sit still any longer. Leaving the biography behind, he started walking again. While his mind focused inward, his body wandered into the woods behind the house and followed the path of the creek.

Fragmented feelings swirled around him, within reach but hard to grasp. So much to process. Too much. How was he supposed to feel? He didn’t have a clue.

But maybe it didn’t matter how he was supposed to feel. Maybe what mattered was how he did feel, knowing the whole truth now about the man he’d spent his life idolizing.

Archie sat on a smooth, flat rock. Eyes fixed on the rushing water, he turned his vision inward. He pried open his own heart, forcing himself to look at it—really look at it—maybe for the first time.

No surprise: his first thoughts were about stories. Even in fantasy, perfection was boring. It never felt right. The most interesting heroes were always the ones who struggled. Who made mistakes but kept trying.

But you’ve held him to a different standard, haven’t you?

Archie knew it was true. He’d always seen Grandpa as infallible. And ever since learning the full story, Archie had wondered if his hero was someone he could no longer look up to.

But all those flawed heroes in all those stories—didn’t he respect them more for learning from their mistakes and not giving in to their darkest days? Didn’t he admire them for working to become better people?

Hadn’t Grandpa done the same thing?

Archie’s thoughts turned to these past months. To the setbacks, but then to the unexpected successes, and to the ways he’d grown through it all. Life at home got harder and more tangled as Grandpa got sicker, but other parts of life were getting better. Archie’s bond with Mom was stronger than ever. School life was improving, and his friendships were deepening.

The more he pondered, the more closely he looked at all of it, the more clearly Archie saw a common thread. Everything was connected.

In a flash, it all came together: how he felt about Grandpa’s past, and what he wanted to do with his own life going forward.

Now he knew what to do about Desta.

And he had just found his project.