Page 142 of Dark Night of the Soul

“They’ll be there.”

A beat of silence. Then, quieter, “Thanks.”

I looked at her. “For what?”

“For trusting me with this.” She met my eyes. “For not going in alone.”

Something in my chest tightened. Because she understood what I was telling her. Not about the Quiet Watch, but about us. That I wasn’t shielding her anymore. That I was letting her stand beside me in this. That after last night, after everything, there were no more secrets between us.

“You should know what you’re walking into,” I said.

“I always want to know,” she said. Then added, softer, “Especially now.”

Especially now. After she’d said those words in the dark. After I hadn’t said them back. After she’d chosen me, anyway.

I reached for her, covered her hand with mine. Long enough to let her know I heard what she wasn’t saying.

She turned her hand over, laced her fingers through mine. Squeezed once.

Then let go.

“I assume it’s another safe house?” she asked, returning to practicalities. Giving us both an out from the weight of the moment.

“It is.”

Her gaze drifted from the mug to the distant sea. “It was a nice view.” Then she slipped me a glance. “I hope there’s whiskey where we’re going.”

My mouth curved. “There’s always whiskey where we’re going.”

“That’s good. Be a shame to break tradition,” she said. “When do we leave?”

“Midnight charter.”

“Oh, Silas. He’s always so dramatic.” But she was smiling when she said it.

“He has a flair for it.”

“At least we’re not meeting in another episode of Mysteries of the Abandoned.”

I chuckled. “No.”

She drained the rest of her mug, then stood. For a moment, she pinned me with her violet gaze. And I saw it again, that dark certainty in her eyes. The thing that had settled in her since the alteration. Since she’d learned to fight the programming. Since she’d reclaimed herself one painful inch at a time.

“They watched us,” she said. Not a question. A statement. “Our private moments. Everything.”

“Yes.”

Her jaw tightened. “And now we’re going to torch it.”

“Every last file,” I confirmed.

She nodded once, and I saw the fierce satisfaction that crossed her face. This wasn’t about destroying data. This was about reclaiming what they’d stolen. Taking back the privacy they’d violated. Making sure no one else could use those intimate moments against us.

“Good,” she said simply. Then went to pack.

I stayed on the balcony, the sea stretching endlessly before me.

Munich would be loud. Public. Dangerous.