Page 51 of Crown of Thorns

His daughter watches me. Not Lorcan. Not Declan. Me.

"The external pressure on both our operations is increasing," Micheal continues. "The Guard has new resources. The Dublin Port Authority is tightening inspection protocols. What was previously easy to manage is becoming significantly more complex."

Declan leans forward. "This is interesting to us. What kind of pressure?"

"The kind that suggests outside involvement. We're hearing rumors of federal interest in the Dublin distribution networks. The Americans, possibly. Or some other international player we haven't identified yet."

Roisín watches me while her father speaks. I understand that I'm being tested. That she's assessing how I process information. How I think.

Lorcan arrives. The presence of him changes the room immediately. Declan straightens. The other operative adjusts his posture. Everyone recalibrates to accommodate the hierarchy.

"Micheal," Lorcan says. "Roisín. I appreciate you reaching out with this."

He doesn't sit. He stands at the head of the table. The power in the room reorganizes around his stillness.

"We have new information," Micheal says. "Information that suggests this external pressure isn't random. It's coordinated."

"Who's coordinating?" Lorcan asks.

"That's the question. We have people in the Guard. They're reporting that someone — a federal liaison, possibly Interpol — has been in meetings with the superintendent. The meetings are closed-door. The briefing materials aren't available to our sources."

I watch Lorcan process this. His expression doesn't change, but the quality of his attention shifts. He's suddenly focused on something else entirely.

"Timeline?" he asks.

"Three weeks. Since late in the month."

"And you waited until now to approach us?"

"We wanted to be certain," Micheal says. "We wanted to understand the scope before triggering any operational response."

Lorcan looks at me. Just for a moment. Like he's checking something. Like my presence here means something specific in his calculation.

"We should talk privately," Lorcan says to Micheal.

"I'd prefer Roisín stay," Micheal replies.

Lorcan nods. That's interesting. The fact that he consents. The fact that he doesn't argue.

"In that case," Micheal continues, "I'm also going to ask that Renny stays."

Lorcan's jaw tightens. The reaction is there for just a moment before he controls it.

"No," he says.

"I need a third party," Micheal says. "Someone who can report back accurately. Someone who doesn't have an operational bias. Your wife has proven herself capable of holding nuance."

"My wife is not a third party to operational security," Lorcan says.

But Micheal is already looking at me. Assessing. The way you assess a person when you're considering bringing them into something larger.

"I understand you've been resolving disputes in the north," Micheal says.

"Small things," I say. "Neighborhood issues."

"Effectively. Using language instead of leverage. That's rare in this world."

Lorcan's hand is on the table. I can see the muscles cord in his forearm.