He saved my life.
He wouldn't have done it if I were nothing more than leverage.
He finishes the cigarette, flicks the butt into the ditch, and gets back in.
We drive the rest of the way in silence.
When we reach the house, he stops at the portico.
The housekeeper is waiting, her apron already stained with whatever the kitchen has prepped for tonight.
The guard at the door stands a little straighter but doesn't speak.
Ruairí turns to me before we get out.
His voice is calm,but there's an edge to it.
"They don't get to walk away from that."
It's not a threat.
It's a promise.
I follow him inside, my legs still shaky, and wonder which one of us is more afraid of the future.
Probably me.
But maybe not.
Everything is too bright inside.
The lamps in the foyer have been switched from the usual gold to something closer to daylight, which makes every surface seem exposed and suspect.
I step out of my shoes and let the housekeeper take my coat, her hands trembling as she tries not to touch the places where the blood has crusted dark.
Lena is waiting.
The moment she sees me; she runs over to wrap me in a hug which I return.
Sometimes, life puts you in situations that take a professional relationship to a different stage.
This happens to be one of them.
Ruairí doesn't pause.
He moves through the side hall, past the trophy wall with its photos of men who look too much like him, and into the service corridor where the guards change over at the half-hour.
They stand straighter as he passes, eyes fixed at a point just above his head.
I watch him walk as I trail behind, the way the muscles in his back bunch under the torn shirt, and for a moment he seems less a man and more the idea of one—unbreakable, relentless, entirely constructed for survival.
Fiachra is waiting at the end of the corridor, phone in hand, face set to grim.
He's traded the bloodstained windbreaker for a blazer, but there's a smear of something on the lapel and he hasn't noticed.
The overhead lights cast hard shadows down his cheeks, making him look older than usual, or maybe just tired in a new way.
He holds the phone out to Ruairí without a word.
