Page 62 of The Thief
"What kind of something?"
"Nothing good. But we're going to stop it before it starts."
"How?"
"By ending this war. Permanently."
The finality in his voice sends a chill down my spine. He's not just talking about defeating Trace—he's talking about killing him.
"And after? When Trace is dead and the war is over?"
"After, you decide what kind of life you want."
"What if I want a life that doesn't involve violence? That doesn't involve looking over my shoulder every day?"
"Then you build that life. Somewhere safe, somewhere peaceful."
"And you?"
"Me what?"
"Would you be part of that life? This hypothetical peaceful existence?"
He's quiet for a long moment, considering. When he speaks, his voice is careful, measured.
"I'm not a peaceful man, Alastríona. Violence is what I know, what I'm good at. Not sure I'd fit into a quiet life."
"But would you try? If I asked you to?"
"I'd try anything for you."
The words hit harder than they should. Honest, painful, everything I want to hear and everything that terrifies me.
"Freddie—"
"I know. I know you're scared, that you don't trust easily. But I need you to know that whatever happens, whatever choices you make, I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me to go."
"And if I tell you to go?"
"Then I go. But I hope you won't."
He's close now, close enough that I can smell his cologne and see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.
"This is crazy," I whisper.
"Yeah."
"We're in the middle of a war."
"Yeah."
"People are trying to kill me."
"Not if I can help it."
"You could die protecting me."
"I could die crossing the street. Life's dangerous."
