"What I did?"
"Distracting Solveig. If you hadn't stepped in, said what you said—I might not have gotten a clear shot. Dalla might be—" I can't finish the sentence.
Tor is quiet for a moment.
His face is unreadable, but I can see the weight of old memories in his eyes.
"Freya was a monster," he says finally. "She did things to me—to a lot of people—that I've spent thirty years trying to forget. When I saw her daughter, holding that knife to Dalla's throat, threatening to continue her mother's legacy..." He shakes his head. "I couldn't let that stand. I couldn't let another generation be destroyed by that family's cruelty."
"Well, whatever your reasons—thank you. I owe you."
"You don't owe me anything. You killed the woman who would have killed my niece or nephew. We're more than even." He pushes off the workbench, heading for the door. "Take care of Dalla, RJ. She's special. Don't let her go."
"I don't intend to."
He pauses at the door, looking back at me with something like approval in his weathered face. "Good. Then we understand each other."
After he leaves, I pull out my phone and dial a different number.
"RJ!" Revna's voice is bright and warm. "How's my favorite pregnant sister doing?"
"She's good. Sleeping a lot. The baby is healthy."
"I know, she texted me the ultrasound pictures. I cried for like an hour." I can hear the smile in her voice. "So, what's up? I know you didn't call just to chat."
"I need your help with something."
"Ooh, sounds mysterious. Tell me everything."
I take a deep breath. "I want to propose to Dalla. And I need you to help me pick out a ring."
The squeal that comes through the phone is so loud I have to hold it away from my ear.
When she finally calms down, she's talking a mile a minute about cuts and carats and settings and metals.
"Okay, okay, slow down," I laugh. "I don't know anything about any of this. That's why I called you."
"Right. Sorry. I'm just so excited!" She takes a breath. "What do you think she wants?"
I think about Dalla—her designs, her clothes, the way she moves through the world. "Classic," I say. "But with a twist. Something timeless but unexpected."
"Perfect. I know exactly what we're looking for. Can you FaceTime me? I'll pull up some options and we can look together."
An hour later, I've ordered a ring.
It's being overnighted from a jeweler in Dublin—a solitaire diamond on a platinum band, but with a subtle twist in the metalwork that makes it unique.
Revna assured me Dalla will love it.
I hope she's right.
Now I just have to figure out how to ask.
The barbecue at Runes and Fern's house is in full swing by the time we arrive.
It's a beautiful afternoon—warm but not too hot, a light breeze carrying the smell of grilled meat and charcoal.
The backyard is packed with people: club members and their families, kids running around on the grass chasing each other with water guns, old ladies gathered in clusters exchanging gossip and recipes.
