This is the new order—respect, not fear, at least not the old kind.
At the back of the house, the garden has been redone.
Where there were weeds and broken stone, there is now a paved terrace, a line of planters, and a small, unassuming statue at the far wall.
The statue is not religious.
It is a block of granite carved into the shape of a fox, lean and alert, eyes fixed on the back door.
I stand with Lena for a moment, looking at it.
"Who picked it?" I ask.
She smiles.
"Ruairí. Said it was for luck."
I look up at the house—the way the lights glow in the upstairs windows, the way the brick is still pocked with bullet scars but somehow more beautiful for it.
I think about the old days, about walking these halls as a stranger, about never knowing if I would survive the night or the meeting or even my own ambition.
I think about the first time I realizedI could win.
I think about the first time I realized I could lose.
That's when my water breaks.
I grab the edge of the statue, knuckles white, and call out, "Ruairí!"
He is there in seconds, ghosting up from the house in a shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled and eyes already assessing for damage.
He sees the water.
"Is it time?" he asks, like maybe I've just dropped a glass of wine on the carpet.
"Unless you know another reason I'd be pissing myself in the garden," I say, and I can hear the panic bleeding through my voice, but I don't care.
He is at my side in a blink, one arm at my back, the other under my knees, and before I can object he lifts me off the ground, bridal-style.
"Put me down," I say, but I don't mean it.
He ignores me.
"Fiachra! Car," Ruairí barks.
"Now. Clinic, not hospital. Secure the perimeter. And tell Lena she's with us."
Fiachra is already gone, moving with the kind of speed that only fear or faith can provide.
I let my head rest against Ruairí's shoulder.
The night air is cold and damp, the fog off the Bay curling in under the eaves and making the world smell like brine and ozone.
I shiver, but only a little.
He sets me down at the curb, just long enough for Lena to open the car door.
She is in all black, her hair up, pistol visible under the hem of her jacket.
