Page 69 of The Thief
"You don't need to apologize," she says finally. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"I scared you."
"I scared myself."
She steps aside, letting me into her room, and closes the door behind us with a soft click.
"I wanted to," she says quietly. "That's what scared me. How much I wanted it."
"And now?"
"Now I'm tired of being scared. Tired of running from things that might be good for me."
She moves closer, and I can smell her shampoo, see the uncertainty in her blue eyes mixed with something that looks like determination.
"There's something you need to know," I say. "About tomorrow."
"What about tomorrow?"
"Trace is making his move. Tomorrow night, during dinner. We know when, we know how. But it's going to be dangerous."
Her face goes pale. "How dangerous?"
"Dangerous enough that I want you somewhere safe. Away from Henry's house."
"You want me to run."
"I want you alive."
She's quiet for a moment, processing. When she speaks, her voice is steady.
"And after? When it's over?"
"After, we figure out what comes next."
"Together?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with possibility and fear in equal measure.
"If that's what you want."
"I do want that. But I need you to promise me something."
"What?"
"That you'll come back. That you won't get yourself killed trying to protect everyone else."
"Alastríona—"
"Promise me, Freddie. Because I can't lose anyone else. I can't watch another person I care about disappear."
The vulnerability in her voice breaks something open in my chest. This strong, stubborn woman who's survived eighteen months alone is asking me not to leave her.
"I promise."
She nods, satisfied. Then she does something that surprises me—she reaches for my hand and pulls me toward the bed.
"Stay," she says. "Tonight, just stay with me."
