I hold her tight, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo.
My sister. My twin. The other half of my soul.
"I love you," I whisper.
"I love you too." She pulls back, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Call me every day. Text me. Video chat. Whatever. I need to know you're okay."
"I will. I promise."
She kisses my forehead and stands. "I'll let you finish packing. The car leaves in two hours."
Then she's gone, and I'm alone with my half-packed suitcase and the terrifying knowledge that everything is about to change.
The drive to the airstrip is silent.
RJ sits in the front seat next to the driver, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning constantly.
I'm in the back, my suitcase in the trunk, my carry-on clutched in my lap.
The leather seats are cold against my thighs.
Dublin passes by the windows in a blur of lights.
It's dark now—nearly midnight—and the city has that particular glow of a place that's still awake but winding down.
Pubs spilling golden light onto wet sidewalks.
Couples walking hand in hand.
Normal people living normal lives.
I wonder what that feels like.
We pull onto the airstrip and the private plane is waiting, sleek and white against the darkness.
The Mackenzie family crest is painted on the tail.
Of course it is.
RJ exits first, scanning the area before opening my door.
His hand hovers near my elbow as I step out—not quite touching, but ready to grab me if needed.
Protective. Possessive.
What's theirs.
"After you," he says, gesturing toward the stairs.
I climb into the plane and find a seat near the window.
The interior is all cream leather and polished wood, more luxurious than most apartments I've lived in.
A flight attendant appears with a warm smile and offers me champagne.
I take it.
Hell, I need it.
