Page 145 of The Thief
"But?"
"But he sounded different today. Older, sadder. Like maybe he actually understands what he lost."
Tríona nods slowly. "Holding onto hatred is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die."
"Easy to say. Harder to live."
"I know. Trust me, I know. After Mam left, after she walked out without saying goodbye, I carried that anger for months. Let it poison everything good in my life."
"What changed?"
"Time. And understanding that forgiveness isn't about them, it's about you. It's about choosing not to let their actions define your future."
I study her face, seeing wisdom there that comes from experience, from having made hard choices about family and loyalty.
"He abandoned me. Left me to fend for myself when I was fourteen years old."
"I know. And that's unforgivable in a lot of ways. But people change, Freddie. Prison changes people, sometimes for the better."
"And sometimes it just makes them better criminals."
"True. But maybe, when this is all over, when Trace is dead and we can breathe again... maybe you can think about whether you want to try. Not for him, but for yourself."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean maybe you're tired of carrying that anger. Maybe you want to see if there's something better on the other side of forgiveness."
The idea is terrifying and appealing in equal measure. Fifteen years of using my father's abandonment as motivation, as fuel for the anger that's driven me to become who I am. Without that anger, who would I be?
"Maybe," I say.
"That's all anyone can ask for."
We're about to enter Henry's study, when my phone rings again. Stephen's number this time.
"Yeah?"
"We've got him." Stephen's voice is tight, controlled, carrying the kind of anger that comes from betrayal. "The mole. We know who it is."
My stomach drops. After hours of waiting, of theorizing, of hoping we were wrong about having a traitor in our ranks, the moment of truth has arrived.
"Who?"
"Jason."
The name hits like a physical blow. Jason, who drove us to the hospital when Tríona was bleeding out. Jason, who's been part of Jer's crew for years. Jason, who I'd have trusted with my life.
Jason, who taught me half of what I know about cars and getaway routes. Who's sat at our table, drunk our whiskey, and listened to our plans while calculating how much they were worth to our enemies.
"You're sure?"
"Positive. Trace just hit the safe house in Spain. The one we told Jason about. He's got men moving on the location we described, using details only Jason knew."
Christ, it's really him. Our brother, our friend, the man we'd have died for. He's been selling us out for months.
"How do you know it was the Spain story?"
"Because the team Trace sent knew about the specific security measures we mentioned to Jason. They knew about the hidden entrance, the escape routes, even the fucking alarm codes we made up."
