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“This has nothing to do with being in charge—”

“Even though you were good at it. Every member of our clan would have taken a dirk to the heart for you—”

“Some did.” The bitterness in his voice threatened to choke him. The thought of their last hot trod before leaving Scotland, the slaughter of too many young warriors when they’d been ambushed . . .

“Even so, you never wanted it.”

She jumped off the counter and rushed toward him, tossing her small arms around his waist. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her, trying so hard to forget.

“I think it’s wonderful,” she murmured against his chest. “And I hope you mean it this time. Torr and I can handle the Cheld.”

Laria pulled back, tears glistening unabashedly in the corners of her eyes.

“Truly, Lawrence. You deserve this.”

He wasn’t sure about that, but he wanted it nonetheless. He was done running. Leading. Protecting.

Pulling away, she gestured to the dark, dusty space around them.

“So what will you do with it? Not another bank, certainly?”

“A bar,” he said. It sounded like the beginning of a joke: a vampire walks into a bar . . . And yet he wanted something that was his. Something that made people happy. At the end of the day, he was a simple man, and he’d always found a certain comfort behind a bar, listening to people’s life stories. Even now, he tended bar at Amendment 18, Stone Haven’s lone speakeasy.

She crossed her arms. “I can see it.”

He could too. And despite the fact that it wasn’t for sale, it would be his.

“You sure you’re OK with this?” he pressed. If she agreed, he would have to speak with Torr next, ensure his brother also approved.

His sister’s smile reached her eyes. “Absolutely,” she said, sneezing. “Let’s get out of here. I can smell rats.”

With one last glance, he followed Laria through the doors of a seven-hundred-year-old dream. But when his phone buzzed a moment later, all thoughts of the bank and Stone Haven were forgotten.

Five words changed everything.