Page 93 of The Shape of my Scar
The air felt too still once the door closed behind the Horsemen.
Faolan stood in the echo of it for a moment, the quiet unnerving.
Thane hadn’t left her side since she got hurt.
Until now.
He lingered in the hallway, his face still bruised—faded now to the mottled patchwork of healing with ochre yellows, soft browns, and a slash of purple near his jaw. The swelling around his eye had gone down, but it still looked tender.
“Okay,” he said, turning back to face her. “Alarm’s set to auto-arm at midnight, but if you feel off, hit the panic key on the fob. The cameras are all running, covering the front, side, balcony, and hallway. Lirian swapped out the hallway ones himself, so they’re not connected to the main grid. Safer that way. I can access the feed on my phone at any time.”
Faolan raised a brow. “You done?”
He kept going, undeterred. “There’s a taser in the drawer under the sink. Backup burner phone in the cabinet abovethe fridge—code’s your birthday. And you have your service revolver”
“Thane—”
“And keep your phone by you. Always. Not on silent, not in another room.”
Maro, slouched against the doorway behind him, let out an exaggerated sigh. “Christ, mate, you’re acting like you’re going off to war.”
“I am going to a meeting with Bratva leadership,” Thane muttered.
“You’re also a six-foot-three gorilla with a bloody kill count. Relax. This building has better security than a vault in Geneva.”
Thane ignored him. He turned back to Faolan, cupping her face gently between both hands. “I’ll be back soon,” he said. “But if you so much as hear something weird, you call me immediately. Don’t be a hero. I’ll burn the world down to get back to you.”
Before she could answer, he kissed her fiercely.
Like it might have to last a year. Like he couldn’t afford to leave anything unsaid.
When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers for just a beat longer. “Keep your phone by you,” he said again, low and hoarse.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Okay.”
Reluctantly, he stepped back.
Maro gave her a wink as they turned to leave. “We’ll bring you back a souvenir. Maybe a one of those Russian nesting dolls.”
“God, please don’t,” she muttered, already closing the door.
When it clicked shut behind them, the silence returned but it was different this time.
This wasn’t abandonment.
It was the echo of being fiercely, inconveniently loved.
***
They met in a usual car park under the overpass. The black SUV that pulled up was nondescript except for the man who stepped out. One of Anatoly’s enforcers. Huge. Tattooed. Silent. He seemed to have multiple clones of the same, just with different hair colours but the same expression.
“Gentlemen,” he said with a slight nod. “Come.”
They climbed into the bulletproof Rolls Royce.
The drive was smooth and silent, cutting through the grey city until they reached the familiar building—warm wood, wrought iron fixtures, and the heavy scent of old cigars.
Inside, the fire crackled. The grandfather clock ticked.
