Page 55 of The Thief
"Probably not. There are things happening, wheels in motion. Might get complicated soon."
"More complicated than it already is?"
"Yeah."
She's quiet for a moment, processing. Smart girl. She’s probably already figured out that my early morning visit means trouble.
"What kind of complications?"
"The kind where people try to hurt you to get to us."
"And what kind of people are 'us' exactly?"
"The kind who don't let threats go unanswered."
She nods, understanding. We're talking about war now, about the kind of violence that doesn't discriminate between soldiers and civilians.
"Are you scared?" she asks.
"Of what?"
"Of whatever's coming. Of what you might have to do."
Honest question, deserving an honest answer.
"Yeah. Little bit."
"What scares you most?"
"Not being fast enough. Not being smart enough. Letting down the people counting on me."
"People like me?"
"People like you."
We sit in silence for a moment, surrounded by Henry's perfect garden and the illusion of safety it represents. Both of us knowing that safety is temporary, that violence is coming whether we're ready or not.
"Can I ask you something?" she says.
"Ask away."
"Last night. When you kissed me. Was that real, or was it just part of the job?"
Direct question. The kind that demands a direct answer.
"Real."
"How do I know you're not lying?"
"Because lying would be easier. It would keep things simple, professional."
"And telling the truth complicates things?"
"Everything about you complicates things."
She studies my face like she's trying to read tea leaves. Looking for tells, for signs that I'm playing some kind of game.
"I want to trust you," she says finally.
