Page 156 of The Thief
Henry's smile is soft, reminiscent. "Killian was... special. Shouldn't say it, shouldn't have favorites among my children, but he was."
My heart soars. I love hearing this, love learning more about my dad, about the man he was. It's nice to know I wasn't the only one who loved him dearly. "Why?"
"Because he had heart in a world that rewards heartlessness. Because he could be ruthless when necessary but never lost his compassion. Because he loved completely, without reservation or condition."
"Like with me."
"Especially with you. From the moment you were born, you were his whole world. He used to carry pictures of you everywhere. He'd always carry them with him. You were always with him, Alastríona. He was the proudest father I ever knew."
The warmth in Henry's voice makes my chest tight. This is what I've been missing my whole life—family who remember my father with love instead of fear, who see his absence as loss instead of relief.
"He was a good man."
"The best. And you're just like him."
"I don't feel like it sometimes. I feel angry, vengeful. I want Trace to pay for what he's done."
"That's human. That's normal. Your father would have felt the same way."
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, grandfather and granddaughter finding connection in shared loss. Outside, Dublin continues its business, unaware that somewhere in Maynooth, a war is being planned.
"Can I tell you something?" Henry says eventually.
"Of course."
"You're my favorite too."
I laugh despite myself. "Henry, we've barely known each other two months."
"Doesn't matter. I love all my grandchildren, but you're special. You're Killian's daughter, yes, but you're also yourself. Strong, stubborn, brave enough to stand up to old men who think they know better. You have been sheltered from this life yet you are brave and resilient. You were made to be a part of this family, but you also are sweet and caring. You are my favorite."
"I don't feel special. I feel like I'm stumbling through all of this, making it up as I go along."
"That's what makes you special. Anyone can follow orders, can do what they're told. It takes real strength to think for yourself, to make your own choices."
"Even when those choices put people in danger?"
"Especially then. Easy choices don't require courage."
The alarm system suddenly blares through the house, a harsh electronic shriek that makes my blood freeze. Henry's on his feet immediately, moving faster than a man his age should be able to.
"Upstairs," he orders. "Now."
"What's happening?"
"Someone's breached the perimeter. Go. Hide."
But I don't move. I can't move. Because if someone's found us here, then this was all a trap. The farmhouse in Maynooth, the rental agreement, it was bait to draw our men away while Trace came for me.
"Alastríona, go!"
Henry's voice cuts through my paralysis. I run for the stairs, taking them two at a time, my heart hammering against my ribs. Behind me, I hear Henry on his radio, calling for backup, coordinating defenses.
But backup might not come in time. The best men are twenty miles away, walking into what might be an empty house while the real threat is here.
I reach my room, lock the door, and grab the knife Dad taught me to use. It feels inadequate against whatever's coming, but it's something. A way to fight back if fighting becomes necessary.
Outside, I can hear vehicles approaching. Multiple engines moving fast. Too many for a casual visit, too coordinated for coincidence.
