I exhale slowly. My jaw still stings from her slap, but I don’t raise my voice again. Instead, I force it low. Controlled. “What did you give him, dove?”
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. Her eyes dart to the floor, to the fallen ledger, then back to me.
“Siobhán.” I step closer, softer this time. “Tell me.”
Her voice is barely a whisper. “A code.”
The room tilts. “What code?”
She looks up at me through tears, green eyes swimming with guilt. “My birthdate.” Her voice cracks. “The code you use for everything.”
For a second, I can’t breathe. The silence in the room feels like it’s choking me.
Her shoulders shake. “I didn’t know. I didn’t—Cillian, I swear I didn’t think—”
Her words dissolve into sobs before she can finish. I move before I can stop myself, hands finding her face, her hair, her trembling shoulders. She collapses against me, crying like she’s breaking apart.
“I’m sorry,” she chokes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
I hold her tighter. I should push her away, but I can’t. Not her. Never her.
She presses her face into my chest, voice shaking. “You have to kill me.”
“Stop it,” I growl, but it sounds broken.
“You do,” she whispers. “I betrayed you.”
Her tears soak through my shirt. I rest my chin on her hair, breathing her in like it’s the last time. “No, dove,” I whisper against her temple. “You just trusted the wrong devil.”
Her sobs tear through me like shrapnel. I can feel them shaking her whole body against mine. Then she pushes back, eyes wild and shining with tears.
“Do it,” she gasps. “Just—just fucking do it, Cillian. End it.”
“Stop.” My voice comes out rough, too soft for the hell in me.
She shoves against my chest, frantic. “You have to! I betrayed you! You’re supposed to—”
Before I can stop her, she reaches for my pocket. “Siobhán—”
The knife flashes in her shaking hand, the same one I always carry—black handle, worn smooth from years of use. She presses the blade against her throat, trembling.
“A stór,” I breathe, stepping forward, hands up like I’m taming a frightened animal. “Don’t.”
Tears spill down her cheeks. “You won’t do it. So I’ll do it for you.”
“Christ, no—” I catch her wrist, the blade nicking her skin as I pull it away. The sight of that tiny drop of blood undoes me. I wrench the knife from her hand and toss it to the floor, but she’s still sobbing, broken sounds that gut me worse than any wound.
“I never stopped loving you,” she cries. “Even when I thought you killed her. Even when I left. I never—”
“A Cholm, éist liom.2” My voice cracks. “I wanted to tell you everything. Itried.But he’d have killed you if I did. I had to hide. I had to keep you away from all this filth—my father’s filth.”
She shakes her head, tears streaming. “You think that matters now? He has everything. The code, the files—everything. I gave him what he needed. And now your father can finally have me out of your life, permanently.”
I drop to my knees in front of her, grabbing her face between my hands. “You didn’t know. You were a child when they started this war. We both were.”
She looks down at the knife still lying on the floor between us, whispering through her tears, “Then finish it.”
I pick it up slowly, the metal cold against my palm. Her breath catches when I lift it. The tip grazes her skin—light, careful. Her pulse flutters like a terrified bird against the blade.
