It was a long shot, a gut instinct, but Lemony Snicket knew that the key to successful journalistic endeavors was taking every chance he got. He'd struck up conversations with dozens of seemingly inconspicuous taxi drivers, dry-cleaning workers, bank robbers, sous chefs, and snakes, and they had been some of his strongest leads in the Baudelaire case. Even with the trail completely dry, the Baudelaires nowhere to be found, and not a single scrap of evidence pointing him in their direction, he remained devoted. That was why, even knowing that the Baudelaires would almost surely be anywhere else, he ventured to Briny Beach that cold, empty morning, two years after the Baudelaires had first received bad news on its shores.

The day was overcast, as most days were when the smoke of a thousand disparate fires still hung in the air. Lemony kept his hat down and briefcase close as he entered the beach. He relaxed slightly when he caught sight of a figure he'd only ever seen in photographs, excluding one brief meeting. For the first time in countless years, Lemony would have dared to call himself lucky. He'd followed a mere whim and in return he'd found Klaus Baudelaire standing before him, holding a smooth, flat stone and staring out into the ocean.

Lemony did not intend to startle Klaus, but he was not accustomed to social interactions. His organization as a whole was inept at any communication that was not coded or confidential, and he was no exception. With all the confidence a man who had spent two years tracking children could muster, which in the end was a surprising amount, Lemony began his greeting, addressing the boy despite his focus on the waves. "Klaus Baudelaire. I'm glad to finally be making your acquaintance. My name is Lemony Snicket. I believe you met-"

"Your siblings," Klaus finished. His head snapped up as he spoke, but when their eyes met, Lemony did not find the curiosity he'd anticipated from a boy whose research capabilities were praised by every source he'd interviewed. "Mr. Snicket, I apologize, but I need to go. I have an appointment across town." Klaus' voice quivered by the end of the statement. It was clear to Lemony that despite the number of lies Klaus Baudelaire had been forced to tell in his short lifetime, he still had not learned to hide them. Still, Klaus' body held the conviction lacking in his voice. He was planted on the shore, his fist firmly clenching the rock. He seemed paralyzed, although by what, Lemony did not know.

Lemony fought to keep his voice gentle, not like the cold, calculated journalist so many people thought him to be. "Klaus, I would appreciate it if you refrained from telling me anything aside from the truth. I'm aware that a conversation with a stranger can often be as unpleasant as finding a tack in your root beer float, but I assure you, I mean no harm."

"Mr. Snicket, I'm afraid that now is not a good time for us to meet." Klaus' voice still shook, and his eyes remained fixed upon the waves. It was only then that Lemony caught the way he squinted his eyes to keep back tears.

"Klaus, I know that today is the anniversary of your parents' deaths. Still, I believe I can be of some comfort. You see, I was an associate of your parents-"

"I'm aware of that, Lemony," Klaus bit out. "Indeed, if you'll forgive me for contradicting you, your books make it quite clear that you and my mother were far more than associates. You of all people should have expected me to have read that. You go on and on about how I'm a such a great researcher, after all." His hands twitched by his sides as the resentment in his voice reached its peak. "I shouldn't be surprised at your hyperbole, though. You sell them as children's books. As if any child would want to imagine all that. As if we weren't already far too young."

Lemony found himself stuttering, reminded of why he'd always shied away from personal conversations in favor of inquiries and interviews. "I had no idea you were aware of my investigations-"

"Did it never occur to you to notify me?" Klaus asked. "I'd think it would be common courtesy to refrain from publishing without my consent. Besides, even if you weren't planning on informing me, I'd imagine you would have thought of using your research to clear my name, so that in three years I'll be able to access my fortune without being arrested, instead of merely publishing it for profit." The beginnings of grief that had manifested on Klaus' face were now gone, replaced by spitting hatred directed at Lemony. "For that matter, since it's already public, the least you could do is provide me with some of the royalties. I can't imagine you've thought about how difficult it is to survive as a fifteen-year-old fugitive with no formal education."

At this, Lemony paused. He couldn't dare to tell such an enraged teenager the truth: it had been his way of protecting them, or at least believing he was. In the beginning, he'd sought to actively track the Baudelaires, in the hopes of catching up to them. Quickly, he'd realized just how far behind them he was, but still, he'd held onto the hope. He'd longed to be greeted by Beatrice's curious eyes, staring out from within three faces he'd memorized from photographs. Instead, he was met with resentment. With all the injustice the Baudelaire orphans had faced, he'd assumed a record would be appreciated. Upon discovering that was not the case, he could barely speak. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I assumed I'd have your consent."

Klaus spoke again. His voice had become quiet, though it was just as heavy with bitterness. "Mr. Snicket, how would you feel if someone published a novel about Kit and Jacques?" Despite the direct address, Klaus remained fixated on the ocean, never turning towards Lemony.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

Klaus inhaled, and even knowing the gravity of the exchange, Lemony could not help but feel a little giddy at seeing one of the middle Baudelaire's famous speeches. "I can't imagine you enjoy being reminded of Jacques, and Kit, seeing what happened to them. Both their deaths were rather sudden, after all. You couldn't have been prepared, and then they happened within a very short timeframe. Keeping all that in mind, I'd think that if you read an entire novel praising their character, their resourcefulness, their kindness, how much they cared for their siblings-"

Klaus stopped and swallowed. Finally, he turned completely towards Lemony. "I'm sorry, Mr. Snicket. This is all very unprofessional of me. If you'll excuse me-"

"Klaus," Lemony called, resisting the urge to grab his arm. He was no longer able to hide the desperation in his voice as he finally realized what Klaus had not said. "I was forced to stop my research after the point where you, your sisters, and my niece left the island. I do not know what happened afterward."

"For all your talk of no happy endings-" Klaus bit out, but by the end of the statement his voice began to crack. He dropped the stone he'd clutched so tightly onto the sand. "Mr. Snicket, they died. We crashed."

Instinctively, Lemony offered his quick apologies for the loss, but Klaus continued as if he hadn't said a word. "I got lucky and managed to stay on what was left of the boat. They didn't. The waves carried me away before I could try and pull them out, and I watched them drown."

Lemony kept his head down and attempted to keep composure as his head suddenly began to reel. Years spent tracking and researching, making sure they were all right, and what had it come to? They were gone the second he stopped tracking them, believing that they had been so lucky throughout his thirteen accounts that surely they would be safe and well in one place or another. Instead, if he had only continued to investigate, he would have found them to be gone. There would be no more seeing Beatrice in Violet's eyes or the way Sunny smiled. The resemblance was so clear that when he'd first stumbled across the photographs of the siblings, it had been enough to send both he and his typewriter into a secluded attic for a few days with a bottle of brandy, weeping over their similarity to a woman who'd been reduced to ashes. It was not long until the hope of seeing Violet Baudelaire, who had grown into the spitting image of her mother, was enough to fuel days of investigation on his part. Now, that spitting image was resting at the bottom of the see, along with a young girl whose degree of intelligence and culinary knowledge was far beyond her few years and the only child of Lemony's dearly departed sister. After spending so many years forcibly estranged, learning Kit had been expecting had been yet another beam of hope, even after he'd discovered that she was long gone. Now that, like so many other things, had been stolen from him.

He kept his voice steady, despite the inner turmoil. "I'm very sorry, Klaus. I would not have published the investigation if I had known."

Klaus nodded coldly, but entertained Lemony no further. "Now, Mr. Snicket, as I said, I really must be going."

Lemony watched Klaus go without comment. This time, the lie was nearly flawless. He made a note to track down Klaus eventually to give him the royalties he rightfully demanded, but for the moment, he stayed put and allowed the orphan a moment of peace. He could get his address from the trolley driver later. For the moment, Lemony picked up the stone Klaus had held so carefully, the perfect size and shape for skipping, and looked out onto the waves. To think that all that time, the remains of Violet and Sunny Baudelaire had been buried under the same sea where it all began. No matter how often he'd said otherwise, it seemed that both he and Klaus had expected a happy ending.