Page 184 of The Thief
"Why? What's coming?"
"Change. Growth. The kind of expansion Jer always talked about but never had the chance to implement. We're going to be bigger, stronger, more organized than we've ever been."
"And you think that's what he would have wanted?"
"I think he wanted us to survive. To thrive. To build something that would last beyond any one person's life."
"Then that's what we'll do."
We shake hands, a formal acknowledgment of the new order. I'm content with my role, he's secure in his leadership, and the organization has a clear path forward.
Everything Jer could have hoped for.
The safe house is quiet when I arrive. Tríona's in the kitchen, making tea, moving with the careful precision of someone who's still healing from trauma but refusing to let it define her.
"How'd it go?" she asks without turning around.
"Good. Better than good. Maverick's officially in charge now, and he's making all the right moves."
"Are you happy about that?"
"Very. He's the right choice. The only choice, really."
She turns to face me, holding two cups of tea. There's something different about her expression—more settled, more at peace than I've seen since Henry's death.
"And you? Where do you fit in this new structure?"
"Exactly where I was before. Doing exactly what I do best."
"Which is?"
"Stealing things. Finding people. Solving problems that can't be solved through conventional means."
"Sounds dangerous."
"Everything's dangerous in our world. But it's what I'm good at. What I was trained for."
She hands me the tea, and our fingers brush. I feel the same electric connection that's been there since the beginning, stronger now because of everything we've been through together.
"I'm glad you're not taking a higher rank," she says quietly.
"Why?"
"Because they become targets. They're the ones people come for when they want to hurt an organization. And I've lost enough people already."
The vulnerability in her voice makes my chest tight. She's thinking about Henry, about her father, about all the men who've died protecting her or the things they loved.
"I'm not going anywhere," I tell her.
"You can't promise that."
"I can promise I'll do everything in my power to come home to you. Every job, every mission, every risk I take—I'll be thinking about getting back to this. To you."
She sets down her tea and moves closer. When she looks up at me, her eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"I love you," she says. "More than I thought possible. More than is probably safe in this world."
"Good. Because I love you the same way."
