It was snowing on the night he left Kanto. Caleb remembered it because he’d always liked snow. When it was about to snow, the air would turn so sharp it was like breathing in glass: a stinging slap of sudden clarity. When it snowed, the world seemed to slow down, and every moment begged to be witnessed with one’s full and undivided attention. Nobody had witnessed him, however, as he’d snuck away under the cover of darkness. It had almost seemed an irony, what with how still and peaceful that perfect winter evening had been; a raging thunderstorm would have been better: more chaos, harder to hear his boots against the pavement as he’d hurried to the harbor. Or perhaps, he later mused, merely a more obvious sign of defection, the flashes of lightning like signal beams to those he was betraying.

The snow had been unexpected, just like his decision.

“Does your brother suspect?” They’d asked as they’d ushered him onto the small, rickety boat. He'd released Lyra as soon as he'd reached the water, so that she could surround them in a dense, protective mist. Elsewhere, other League contacts were executing the final touches of their plan. It had been over a year since he’d started communicating with the League about his…situation. Their spies had met him in innocuous places, notes passed subtly between hands as small talk gave off the illusion of unfamiliarity, every smile hiding the unspoken promise of redemption.

“No.” Caleb had answered them, his breath a visible puff as he’d blown on his gloved hands to try and warm them against the chill of a rising sea breeze, the cold frosting over the tips of his hair. “He has no idea.” The confidence had rolled off his tongue with ease, but Caleb also remembered the way he’d looked back over his own shoulder instinctively, as if half expecting Zev to be standing stoically on the docks, a wraith with a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

But Zev had not been there. He did not know the truth. Caleb would never see him again.

Goodbye, brother.