Page 23 of The Thief
That's when she snaps. She turns on me with fury I've never seen from her before, her eyes blazing like I've accused her of murder instead of just asking where she's been.
"You want to know where I was, Freddie? Fine. I was thinking. About this. About us. About what a fucking mistake this whole thing is."
The words cut deeper than any blade. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I'm not some little girl you can keep tabs on. It means I have a life outside of whatever this is."
"Whatever this is? Jesus, Ava, you’ve never been like this. What the fuck?"
"You’re an arsehole, Freddie. You keep me on a string, dangling some slither of hope in front of me before pulling it away whenever I get attached. You’re a bastard. We just fuck whenever the mood strikes. So what I do is none of your damn business. I am not yours, so you don’t need to keep tabs on me. Hell, you don’t need to worry about me at all. That’s something you're good at—burying your head in the ground whenever things get tough. Walking away from those who mean something. When was the last time you saw your da?"
Cruel. Designed to hurt. And it worked.
"Fuck you," I snarl.
"Fuck you and your paranoid bullshit."
The slap comes out of nowhere; a sharp crack across my cheek that leaves my ears ringing and my pride bleeding. Never saw it coming. Never thought she'd hit me.
"Get out," I hiss, voice quiet, dangerous; the tone I use when I'm one word away from doing something I'll regret. "Get the fuck out of my flat and don't come back."
She left. Packed up her apartment without a word and walked away, leaving Dublin. It was the last time I saw her alive.
Over a year later, and I’m staring at her gravestone, wondering if that fight was her way of saying goodbye. If she knew she was going back to her real life and needed to burn the bridge behind her.
I still don't know. I never will.
"You alright?"
Alastríona's voice pulls me back to the present. She's watching me with those sharp blue eyes, seeing more than I want her to.
"Fine."
"Liar."
"Takes one to know one."
"Fair point."
Silence stretches between us again, but it's different now. Less hostile, more… understanding. Like we're both carrying weight we can't put down.
"Can I ask you something?" she says.
"Shoot."
"This family I'm going to meet—are they good people?"
Loaded question. Are any of us good people? We kill for money, steal for sport, and build empires on blood and fear. But we also protect what's ours, honor our debts, and keep our word when it matters.
"Define good."
"Will they hurt me?"
"No. Never."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because you're family, and family's everything to people like us."
