Page 161 of The Thief
He's beside me in seconds, carefully taking the knife from my shaking hands. "It's okay. I've got you."
"He killed Henry. Right in front of me. He was protecting me, and Trace just..."
"I know. Shh, I know."
Maverick and Stephen haul Trace to his feet after cutting the curtain, and not gently. He's unsteady, probably concussed, but conscious enough to walk. They'll make sure he stays that way until we decide how he dies.
"This isn't over," Trace says as they drag him toward the door. "You can't hide from what's coming."
"Yes, it is," I say, standing up on unsteady legs. "You're finished. Done. And when Freddie gets his hands on you, you're going to beg for the mercy you never showed anyone else."
Trace laughs as they pull him outside, but there's hysteria in it now. The laugh of a man who knows he's lost everything.
Denis is still kneeling beside Henry, one hand on Henry's chest. "He died protecting her," he says quietly.
"That's what he'd have wanted," Malcolm says. "To go out defending family."
"Doesn't make it hurt less."
"No. It doesn't."
Freddie slides his arm around my waist. I'm shaking, I realize. Adrenaline crash, shock, grief, all of it hitting at once.
"We need to move him," Denis says. "We can't leave him here like this."
"I'll call the undertaker," Danny offers. "The one who handled Jer's arrangements."
"Good. And I want extra security on the house."
Freddie's holding me up now, taking most of my weight as my legs threaten to give out. "Come on," he murmurs. "Let's get you upstairs."
"I don't want to leave him."
"You're not leaving him. Denis will take care of everything. Henry will be treated with the respect he deserves."
"But—"
"Tríona. You did everything you could. You protected him, we'll avenge him. Now let me take care of you."
I look down at Henry one last time, memorizing his face. Even in death, he looks dignified, peaceful. Like he's finally at rest after a lifetime of carrying other people's burdens.
"I love you," I whisper to him. "Thank you for bringing me home."
Then I let Freddie lead me away.
My room feels different now. Smaller, less safe. The sanctuary Henry created for me has been violated, tainted by violence and loss.
Freddie closes the door behind us and locks it out of habit. "Sit," he says, guiding me to the edge of the bed.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not. You're in shock."
He's right. I can feel it in the way my hands won't stop shaking, the way my thoughts keep skipping around like a broken record. Henry's blood on my hands. Trace's knife in my grip. The sound of steel punching through flesh.
"Tell me what happened," Freddie says gently.
So I do. Everything from the moment the alarm sounded to hitting Trace with the hurley stick. Freddie listens without interrupting, his face getting darker with each detail.
