This is nothing more than a game I have to play to see this through. And I have no choice but to play it.
I lower my gun and he releases a breath. Takes the final step to close the gap between us. Our chests nearly touching. His hands slide along my arms, warm and steady, grounding in a way that feels practiced. Familiar. Dangerous.
He rests his forehead against mine and closes his eyes, breathing me in like the moment matters.
“I just held you from a commercial liner with one hand, Saint,” he says softly. “You trusted me enough to jump.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his thumbs brushing my cheeks.
“Trust me enough to fight this with you.”
He watches me for another beat, then leans in slowly and kisses me.
I let him.
I tilt my head with his, close my eyes, soften my mouth against his, even as every instinct in my body stays awake andwatching. When he pulls back, his voice is barely above a whisper.
“If I have to earn your trust one truth at a time,” he says, “then I’ll start with this one. My broker…”
I hold my breath. Because there are secrets assassins take to their grave. Would rather die than reveal. Their broker is one of them.
He looks at me steadily. Like he wants me to know how much this moment costs.
“My sister,” he says. “My broker is mysister.”
Iwatch it land.
The way her stillness sharpens. The way her eyes don’t widen, don’t flinch, but go distant for half a heartbeat as the information reorganizes itself in her head. Saint doesn’t react the way other people do. She recalculates.
Family changes the math.
A broker is one thing. A sister is another entirely. It means loyalty layered on obligation; blood tangled up with survival. It means there are pieces of my life she never knew existed, let alone fit together.
I let her sit with it for a moment. Let the cost show on my face because it’s real. There are secrets assassins take to their grave. I’ve buried men for less.
“She’s been my broker since I was exiled,” I say quietly. “I didn’t know she was one before that night.”
Saint’s gaze snaps back to me, sharp now, focused.
“Everyone heard about my exile,” I say. “The Guild made sure of it.”
Saint stays quiet, watching me the way she always does when she’s deciding whether the truth is being offered or negotiated.
“They said I poisoned a politician for a backdoor deal,” I continue. “That I sold my loyalty for leverage.”
I let the words hang there, ugly, and familiar.
“My sister knew better.”
That gets her. Just a flicker, but it’s there.
“Not because she trusted the Guild,” I add. “She never has. She knew better because she knows me.”
I pause, feeling the weight of what I’m not saying yet, what I’m about to drag into the light.
“And because the politician I was accused of killing was my brother-in-law.”
I see it hit her then, a second shock folding into the first. Too many fragments scattered across the table at once. Too many truths arriving without warning. She doesn’t speak, but her jaw tightens, eyes narrowing as she tries to build a picture from pieces that refuse to line up neatly.
