Page 8 of The Last Morgan
She was ready. She had to go back, to return to the world she’d long since buried, step into the life that was rightfully hers, and draw out the ones who thought they’d erased her for good.
She stood by the door dressed in a sharp, tailored two-piece that felt strange against her skin. For years she’d lived in tactical gear, knives strapped to her thighs, hands always wrapped from sparring. Now, looking at her reflection, she could almost believe she belonged in the world she was about to infiltrate.
One by one, they came to see her off.
Mary was first, pressing a heavy suitcase into her hands with a warm nod.
“Keep that safe,” she said, her eyes soft with meaning.
Lucy smiled, knowing it would be filled with reminders of home.
Nick followed next, handing her a sleek black bag.
“Everything you need to blend in is in here,” he said, his usual smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth though his eyes betrayed the emotion behind it. Barnaby bounded up and placed a delicate pair of earrings in her palm.
“They’re more than just pretty,” he said, tapping one with pride. “Touch the side, and you’ve got a direct line to us.”
He handed over another bag with a mischievous grin.
“And this? You’ll figure it out. Just… don’t test it near civilians.”
Sam approached quietly and placed the twin daggers in Lucy’s hands with a grip that was firm but comforting.
“We’ll see each other again,” she said — not a wish, but a promise.
Lucy looked around.
“Where’s Corey?”
There was no sign of him.
Her chest tightened as she held the daggers. He was the one who’d pushed her, broken her down to build her back stronger. He had prepared her for this exact moment… and now, he was nowhere to be seen.
Swallowing the disappointment, Lucy straightened her shoulders.
This was happening.
She stepped out of the house with Carter by her side, her heels clicking softly on the stone path. The house behind her had been more than a home — it was where she became who she was. Now she was leaving it behind.
She paused and looked back one last time, eyes searching the windows and the door, hoping for a glimpse of him. But there was nothing.
Until she spotted him — seated in the back of the car, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He didn’t smile, didn’t wave, didn’t say a word. He just looked at her in that way he always did, like he was waiting for her to catch up.
She didn’t hesitate.
She opened the door, slid in beside him, but before she could speak, he cut her off.
“You didn’t think we’d throw you into the deep end without backup, did you?” he said, his voice low and dry. “We’re all on standby. I’m just the one riding shotgun.”
Relief stirred quietly beneath her ribs, though she kept her expression cool.
The door closed behind her with a soft click, the sound final and steady. This was it. There was no turning back.
The drive was long and quiet, tension sitting thick in the air. The closer they came, the more surreal it felt.
Lucy was about to step back into a life she barely remembered, surrounded by people who had pretended she didn’t exist.
As the car rolled up the long drive, she stared out the window at the estate — her estate. The mansion stood tall and pristine, all white columns and glass, manicured lawns it was airbrushed elegance. It looked untouched by time. Untouched by guilt.
