CHAPTER ONE
RJ
I don't sleep.
Haven't properly in years, but last night was worse than usual.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.
Ash blonde hair catching the stable light.
Blue eyes that refused to look away.
That mouth curving like she knewexactlywhat she was doing when she turned her back on me and walked into the dark.
Enjoy your lurking.
Jaysus.
I drag myself out of bed before dawn, muscles tight from the few hours I managed.
The house is quiet—Da's still asleep down the hall, his snores rattling through the thin walls like they have since I was a boy.
Some things never change.
The new Brotherhood house sits at the eastern edge of the Mackenzie estate, close enough to respond to any threat within minutes, far enough to give the main house its privacy.
It's not fancy—a converted farmhouse with six bedrooms, a communal kitchen, and a sitting room nobody uses because we're never all here at the same time.
Home.
Such as it is.
I pull on joggers and a vest, lace up my trainers, and slip out the back door before anyone else stirs.
The morning air hits my lungs like ice water—clean and sharp, tasting of rain that hasn't fallen yet.
Ireland in spring.
Gray skies and green fields and that particular damp that seeps into your bones if you let it.
I don't let it.
I run the perimeter of the estate every morning.
Six kilometers of stone walls and rolling pastures, past the stables and the barns and the formal gardens that cost more to maintain than most people earn in a year.
It's not about fitness—though that's part of it.
It's about knowing the land.
Every gate, every blind spot, every shadow where a threat could hide.
The horses watch me as I pass their paddocks.
Mrs. Mackenzie's rescues—broken things she puts back together because she can.
There's a metaphor there, probably.
