Page 56 of The Thief
"But?"
"But trusting people is how you get hurt. How you end up alone."
"Not trusting people is how you stay alone."
"Maybe alone is safer."
"Maybe. But it's also lonelier."
She's quiet for a long moment, considering. When she speaks, her voice is careful, measured.
"If I trusted you, what would that look like?"
"I don't know. We'd figure it out as we go."
"And if I got hurt?"
"Then I'd spend the rest of my life making sure whoever hurt you never breathed again."
The words come out harder than I intended. More honest, more violent. But they're true. If anyone hurt her, if anyone so much as made her cry, I'd burn down half of Ireland to make them pay.
"That's not healthy," she says.
"Probably not. But it's honest."
She laughs but there's no humor in it. "Honest. Right. Because honesty's worked out so well for me in the past."
"I'm not your father. I'm not your mother. I'm not anyone who's hurt you before."
"No. You're just a man whose job is protecting me. Whose paycheck depends on keeping me safe."
"My paycheck comes from Henry. This—" I gesture between us "—has nothing to do with money or jobs or family obligations."
"What is it then?"
"Selfish. Personal. Something that scares the hell out of me."
She's looking at me with those sharp blue eyes, seeing more than I want her to. Seeing the truth I've been trying to hide from myself.
"This is insane," she says.
"Yeah."
"We barely know each other."
"Yeah."
"You could be anyone. A killer, a liar, someone who'll disappear the moment this job is finished."
"Could be. But I'm not."
"How do I know that?"
"You don't. That's what trust means: believing in something without proof."
She's quiet for a long time, weighing options, calculating risks. Finally, she reaches for my hand, fingers intertwining with mine.
"This doesn't mean anything," she says.
