Page 54 of Sanctuary

“Goodnight,” she said softly, her voice carrying a mixture of hurt and longing.

Mia nodded, clearly wanting to reach out but restrained herself. “Goodnight Wren. And... thank you.”

As the others filed out, Mia and I were left alone in the kitchen. She leaned heavily against the counter, exhaustion finally catching up with her now that the performance was over.

“You should have told them to lock me up,” she said quietly. “It would have made them feel safer.”

I moved to stand beside her, close enough to feel her warmth but not touching. “Is that what you want?”

She looked up at me, vulnerability naked in her eyes. “What I want doesn’t matter. What keeps them safe does.”

I reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re keeping them safe. They’ll see that soon enough.”

“Connor,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “It’s going to be hard to walk away from you when this is over.”

“Then don’t.”

I led her upstairs to my bedroom. She paused at the threshold, suddenly hesitant.

“I can sleep somewhere else,” she offered. “I know this is awkward for everyone.”

“No,” I said, gently guiding her inside. “You stay with me.”

We prepared for bed in silence, the routine oddly domestic despite the circumstances. When she emerged from the bathroom wearing one of my t-shirts, her bruises stark against her pale skin, I felt that same protective surge I’d experienced in the motel.

“Come here,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding out my hand.

Before she could, a knock sounded on the door followed by, “A word, Connor. In private.” It was Declan.

I sighed and stood up. “Get some sleep,” I told her as I brushed my lips over her forehead.

I stepped out into the hall and followed him to the study, bracing myself for the argument I knew was coming. As soon as the door closed behind us, he rounded on me.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, keeping his voice low but intense. “Bringing an assassin into our home, into our family?”

“She is saving our lives, Declan,” I replied evenly. “And she’s risking everything to warn us about Matheson.”

Declan ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “That doesn’t erase what she was sent here to do. What she might still be planning to do.”

“If she wanted us dead, we already would be,” I pointed out. “She’s had countless opportunities.”

“Unless this is all part of some larger plan we can’t see yet,” he countered. “These people are professionals, Connor. Masters of deception.”

I met his gaze steadily. “So was Tomas. He taught us to read people, remember? To trust our instincts. And mine tell me she’s genuine.”

“Your instincts, or your dick?” Declan asked, his voice softening slightly. “I’ve seen how you look at her.”

I didn’t deny it. “That doesn’t make my judgment wrong.”

He studied me for a long moment, then sighed deeply. “For what it’s worth, I hope you’re right. But if you’re wrong...” He let the implication hang in the air between us.

“I know,” I acknowledged. “And I’ll take full responsibility.”

He nodded once. “You best believe you will because if anything happens to my wife, I’ll kill you myself.” He then reached for the bottom drawer of the desk. “There’s something you should see.” He pulled out a small leather-bound book, its edges worn with age. “This is one of Dad’s journals. Not the black book Matheson is after, but it contains some... interesting information.”

“About what?” I asked, taking the journal from his outstretched hand.

“About Matheson,” Declan replied grimly. “And his connection to our family. Dad had dealings with him years ago—before either of us was involved in clan business.”

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