He pours himself a drink, still watching me like I’ve grown a second head, and I bristle at his reaction.
“Man, I really thought I’d die before you got sentimental.”
“It’s not sentiment. It's structure.”
He snorts. “Okay,structure.What, you think marrying her will stop her from trying to kill you in your sleep?”
“She won’t.”
“Because you trust her?”
“Because I trained her.”
Archie nods, as if that makes sense, because it does. After a beat, he shifts and becomes quiet. Real quiet. Which means something’s off. I didn’t expect him to be upset about my marriage. We’re not the most sentimental pair. But something’s been up with him.
Showing up late. Sometimes, he is nowhere to be found, and I cover for him silently. I’m not the type to report my partner. I get in and get out; if I happen to see him while I’m doing it, so be it.
“What?” I ask.
He downs the rest of his drink and doesn’t look at me. “Fuck it.”
He fills his glass again and just spits the words out like he can’t hold them in anymore, “My mother’s dying.”
I expected something like this. It’s an exchange we do before long, high-stakes jobs like a fucked up confessional for luck. Clearly, this is something he needs to say before we drop into whatever hellhole this op leads to.
“Liver failure,” he says. “My father’s pretending it’s not happening. My sister, Gwenyth, vanished three months ago. Morocco, maybe. Or Monaco. Either way, she’s dodging responsibility. Which leaves me.”
I don’t say sorry. He wouldn’t say it to me.
“You going to see them?” I ask.
“Too busy with the Brotherhood.”
He leans forward, presses his knuckles into his temple, and then looks up at me with a half-smile and a huff.
“So, no offense, Hayden, but your marriage? Not exactly top of my list.”
“Didn’t ask for a toast,” I say.
“Good, ‘cause I didn’t bring champagne.”
We both sit back while the plane hums to life. Outside, clouds blur past the window. Inside, there’s the slow, familiar shift, the one that happens before we do something that ends with dead people and cleanup crews.
We’ve done this a hundred times. Different cities. Different targets. Same ending.
“We have our meeting next week, you won't be late, right?” I ask, not totally understanding why I care. I’ve never cared before.
“I’ll be there. But I think I should be askingyouthat. I’m quite positive you’re supposed to be one more Huntington-Russell short at the meeting.”
I nod. I still have a lot of shit to clean up.
I look over at Archie, not ready to get into it.
“You ready?”
He lights another cigarette, passing me one, which I gratefully take. “Always.”
The plane rolls to a stop. Engines still humming. Outside, the Rover doesn’t move.
