Maybe it was the confession he just gave me. The truth of how he was set up two years ago. The story he’s been carrying alone, carefully rationed, like ammunition.
Or maybe it’s something else. Something that changed him after exile. Something that hardened into a new rule I don’t know yet.
Maybe he blames me.
The thought slides in quietly and lodges there.
When the news broke, I reacted like the perfect Guild girl. I believed the lie. I didn’t go after his contract, but I didn’t question it either. I didn’t dig. I didn’t doubt publicly. I didn’t reach out.
He would be dead if I had taken the job.
But I didn’t save him either.
I was angry. Hurt. Offended that he would betray the Guild, the oaths we all take, the structure that keeps monsters like us pointed outward instead of inward.
Something twists in my chest when I think about his sister finding him immediately. Knowing without hesitation that he wouldn’t do it.
She went to him.
I didn’t.
The realization bites deeper than I want to admit, sharp and undeserved and mine to carry.
And still, there’s something else. Something that doesn’t fit.
Every time I open my fucking eyes, assassins find me. Perfect timing. Perfect placement. Like someone is moving pieces on a board I can’t see. The missing files nag at me, an itch I can’t scratch yet. They matter. I know they do. I just don’t know how. Not until Grim tells me what was taken.
Alejandro returns before I can spiral too far, arms full like he’s looted a five-star pantry instead of a plane’s cargo hold. He sets down two salads, then two plates of dessert, each different. He adds a handful of miniature wine bottles and, impossibly, two actual wine glasses.
Not plastic.
I stare at them for a moment, then huff out a breath.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Everything else on this plane has been excessive, curated, indulgent. Of course, even the emergency wine is high end.
Alejandro catches my look and smiles like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
I take a sip, let the absurdity of it wash over me, and for just a moment, suspended between the hum of the engines and the weight of everything unspoken, I let myself exist in the quiet.
Not safe.
But fed.
An hour later, Alejandro watches me slide the Swiss knife back into my pocket after I twist open an actual bottle of wine. The little single-serve ones didn’t survive dinner.
“Why in the fuck do you use that?” he asks, gesturing at my pocket.
I lift my glass. “Why not?”
He shakes his head, baffled in that way that’s half amusement, half genuine disbelief. “The world is full of weapons, and you choose that.”
“First of all,” I lean back, full, and smug, legs stretched out as he tops off my glass. “I’m the weapon. Let’s get that straight.”
I takea slow sip.
“Everything else is just at my disposal.”
His eyes linger on me a second longer than necessary before he looks around, scanning the cargo hold like he’s searching for inspiration. He grabs a nearby weekend bag and starts pulling things out.
