And I hurt him. All because I was too afraid to tell him the truth.
Once I had a man who kissed me in the rain like I was the only true thing he'd ever held.
And I let it go because I thought survival was more important than love.
Now I know the difference.
Survival is breathing.
Love was living.
And I haven't been alive in years.
I stare at the candle until the flame blurs.
Tristan kissed me like I had a future.
Ewan reminds me it was never mine to begin with.
FIFTEEN
TRISTAN
The door clicks shut behind me as I walk through my London hotel room for the last time.
I drop the duffel bag on the table by the window and unzip it. One by one, I lay everything out like surgical instruments.
Black dye. Clippers. Brown contact lenses. Disposable razor. Balaclava. A printout of a face that isn't mine.
Cat came through better than I expected.
Henri Trottier. French. Thirty-three. Ex-private military, demoted twice for "aggressive conduct" and "difficulty with authority." The perfect kind of bastard for Calder's outer ring.
Cleared last week by the same security company I traced back to Viavilda. Final vetting was approved yesterday, and his travel is already booked through a private channel Cat had to crack her way into. His pickup is scheduled three days from now.
No final destination listed on any of his travel documents, but I expected nothing less.
The Ferryman never writes down where he docks. But that's fine. I don't need an end point yet—just the door, and Henri is my door.
I pick up his photo, studying his face. Sharp nose. Dark hair.Brown eyes that have never held a real thought. A man built to take orders and throw punches when someone smarter tells him to.
Forgettable and replaceable.
The perfect target.
"Sorry, Henri. Wrong assignment," I murmur, tapping the photo against the mirror once like a mock blessing. "You won't be standing anywhere near my family."
It's almost a kindness that he dies doing the first meaningful thing in his life.
My reflection looks back like a stranger.
Hair grown too long after days underground. My eyes are ringed red from no sleep. Scruffy and uneven…a man coming apart in controlled increments.
Except it hasn't felt controlled or incremental.
I couldn't protect Keira. Not then and not now.
The old version of me walked away. Let ego and hurt turn into distance, and distance turn into the kind of silence that ruins lives.
