Jake did not consider himself a violent man. He'd learned to fight as a way of protecting himself and others, and he liked having the confidence of knowing he could take care of himself, but he didn't go out of his way to find trouble. He'd learned that most of the time, violence was best used as a last resort. Most problems could be solved by talking and listening, and he preferred to do things that way.

But it sure felt good to hit his brothers.

And maybe it was wrong of him, but he felt better now. Even though he was still mad, the anger had calmed from a boil to a simmer—calmed enough that when Alex suggested they go to the gift shop to talk, Jake went.

The wiry man followed, and Jake gave him a sheepish smile and held out his hand. "Not my best introduction," he muttered. "But I'm Jake."

"Ernesto," the other man said, shaking his hand warmly. "I'm a friend of Alex's. So is Kai, though she may not admit it today."

Jake glanced at the gun on Ernesto's hip. "You're cops?"

"Detectives," he answered. "Alex helps us out sometimes."

"I thought you were retired," Jake said.

"Some days more than others." Alex said, stepping ahead to open the door to the gift shop.

The shop was small, neatly kept and clean despite a thin layer of sand near the entryway. Warm amber light filtered in from outside, and something about the way it settled over the space felt comfortable and welcoming. Even the giant marlin hanging on the far wall seemed charming rather than tacky.

Another bit of Jake's tension melted away. He'd never been to the Philippines before, and though Alex was practically a stranger to him now, something about the tidy rows of folded t-shirts and necklace displays reminded Jake of something familiar. He couldn't place the exact memory, but the feeling was clear.

Home. The shop felt like a home.

"I have an apartment in the back," Alex said. "But, uh, there's not much room... I've got some beach chairs, hang on..."

He grabbed three brightly-colored chairs, unfolding them in front of the cash register and gesturing for Jake to sit. Ernesto shook his head and leaned against the doorframe. "I'll be out here," he said. "Call me if you get into another fight."

"I'm sure you'll hear it," Alex muttered. Ernesto chuckled as he opened the door, and then Jake and Alex were alone.

Alex sat first, taking a long drink of coffee. Jake got the feeling he was postponing the conversation. That's fine, he thought. I can start.

"So... you have a kid?"

Nice, Stone. Way to ease into things.

Alex sighed. "You want the long version or the short version?"

"Short."

"I joined the DEA and ended up on a series of undercover assignments. My marriage broke up, my daughter blamed me, I buried myself in my work until my partner betrayed me, and then I left the DEA and ended up here."

That... was a very short version. Jake had questions, but he copied his brother and took a drink of coffee so he could organize them in his mind. Gritty backstory details could wait—right now he just wanted to understand the present. "So you retired and bought a gift shop in paradise."

"Almost," Alex said. "I still end up helping Ernesto and Kai pretty often. But working with them isn't the same as working with the DEA."

Jake nodded, though he'd never worked with any kind of law enforcement not counting Colonel Baird. "And Eliot? He's working with you too?"

"No. I had no idea he was on the island until Kai brought him here this morning."

"That's a pretty big coincidence."

Alex leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You're telling me. Honestly, I never thought I'd see either of you again. What are the chances you'd both show up on the same day?"

Cassandra could probably do that math. Jake guessed the percentage went up when you factored magic in—the Clippings Book did seem to have a sense of dramatic timing. Had it waited to send its message until Jake was alone? Was there even really a job here, or had it just decided that Jake needed a family reunion?

Maybe he'd call Jenkins later and ask if the Clippings Book was sentient.

"Okay," Jake said, trying to organize his thoughts. "So Eliot is here on an unrelated job—"

"No," Alex said. "It's related. We just didn't know it was related."

"How's that work?"

Alex tugged at his sock—long socks and chucks, really? Alex's sense of style hadn't changed at all. "Eliot is here to stop a smuggler," Alex explained. "It's the same case Kai and Ernesto are working on. When Kai showed up to meet the smuggler this morning, she saw Eliot and assumed it was me."

"Ah," Jake muttered. "That explains her attitude."

"And why she wants Eliot to give a statement," Alex went on.

Jake nodded to himself. So he'd jumped to conclusions when he saw them together, but it still didn't excuse the fact that neither of them had tried to contact him in 30 years. The only reason he'd stayed home so long was the fear that they wouldn't know where to find him if he left. It was part of why he'd turned down the first invitation to become a Librarian. Part of what made him waste a decade of his life, years that he could have spent studying and exploring and learning and loving. Instead, he'd driven crappy trucks and balanced checkbooks and fought to keep a business alive that he would have gladly let die if his were the only feelings to consider. He'd earned his degrees in the evenings and on weekends, hiding his knowledge from the people around him, writing in the dark and publishing under false names... all because one of his brothers might try to call.

He was getting himself worked up again. "Alright," he said, gruffly, and took another long drink.

"What about you?" Alex asked. His tone was careful, as if he could see Jake's thoughts spiraling out of control, and for some reason that was comforting.

"I'm a... uh, a Librarian."

He expected Alex to misunderstand—to laugh, even—but Alex just smiled. "A librarian. I can see that. You were always surrounded by books as a kid. Do you like it?"

"Yeah. I do."

Alex folded his hands around his coffee cup. "Good. Better than you taking over the company. Did anyone?"

"Yeah," Jake said, concentrating on keeping the bitterness out of his voice. "I did."

Alex blinked at him, and Jake could see the exact moment that he understood. His eyes narrowed, his mouth flattened into a hard line and a muscle in his cheek jumped, and he stared straight ahead like he wanted to block out everything except the orderly rows of his gift shop. For a moment, Jake let him. And not out of kindness, because he could see the realization turn to guilt in his brother's eyes. He waited, let it sink in, let it fester, and then he sighed and nudged Alex's leg with his own.

"But after I left," he said. "It was... amazing. My life, my team... we do important work. More than just shelving books. We help people."

"That's good," Alex said. His voice was rough, as if he had to force the words out. "You were always too good for that place. You should have gone to college, traveled the world—"

"I have," Jake said. "Do you think I just sat at home pining for you and Eliot? I studied. I know a hell of a lot more than Spanish, Latin, and Choctaw now, Alex. I even know a little Tagalog. Do you?"

"Some," Alex said defensively. "Like balut. Know what that is?"

"Fetal duck," Jake answered.

Alex scowled. "Shut up."

Jake took another drink to hide the grin that had spread across his face. This was familiar territory. The fighting, the teasing... and the support. Alex had always told him that he was too smart to stay in Oklahoma, and in the years when their dad was at his worst, Jake clung to the memory of those words as he studied in secret. Some days it had been all that kept him going. When his father's criticism broke down any hope Jake had of a future of his own, Alex's faith was unaffected. Jake had memorized every letter, every late night phone call when Alex told him that their father was wrong. That one day, Jake would do great things and prove him wrong.

It made it that much worse when Alex stopped calling.

"So you uh... you changed your name," Jake said, trying to distract himself from the memories.

Alex's eyes stayed focused on a rack of post cards. "Yeah."

"You hated our family that much?"

That made him look back at Jake. "It wasn't about hate. It was about starting over, fresh. Eliot changed his name too."

"To what?"

"Spencer."

Ah. That would be the reason Jake hadn't found them—he'd been searching for Eliot and Alex Stone. He never would have guessed Walker, by why hadn't he thought to try their mother's maiden name?

"I tried to track you down," Jake said softly. "I did. I looked for years. I even—" He even used magic. Even though he'd cautioned Cassie against its use, even though he knew it always came with a price—after reading about scrying for a mission, he just couldn't help himself. It was weeks before he got up the courage to try. He waited for a day when the others were gone, and he performed the spell alone in the Library—and it failed. He told himself he'd gotten something wrong and gave up, trying to ignore the nagging fear that he'd only failed because they were already dead.

Alex sighed, forcing out a breath that seemed too big for his lungs. "Look, Jake," he said. "I had reasons for what I did. They weren't good reasons, looking back, but I had them. And none of them had anything to do with you. I thought you were going to enlist with Eliot. I thought you two were staying together, and I..." His eyes fled Jake's again, settling on the floor between his feet. "I just wanted out. I wanted to do something with my life instead of wasting it between a bar and a card table. I wanted to make a difference."

Well... that was something Jake understood. It was hard not to feel that way after watching their father run his life into the ground. "And did you?" Jake asked.

Alex let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Not the kind I wanted."

It was the laugh that did it—the bitter, resigned sound that Jake had made every time he deposited a check with Stone Family Rigging and Pipeline printed above his name. Jake finished off the rest of his coffee, and when he stood up to throw the cup away, he knew a large part of him had forgiven his brother.