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"A crazy hero," she says with a tired smile. "Come inside. Sarah's making tea."

The cottage is small but cozy, with mismatched furniture and seashells on every surface. A woman with bright red hair waits in the kitchen, the kettle whistling.

"So, you're the famous Declan," she says, eyeing me up and down. "I thought you'd be taller."

"Sarah," Maeve warns.

"What? After all the drama, I expected something more impressive."

I can't help but laugh. "Sorry to disappoint."

"He's bleeding again," Maeve says, pointing to my shoulder. "Sarah, do you have a first aid kit?"

While Sarah patches me up, Maeve puts Conor to bed in a small room off the kitchen. He's exhausted, emotionally and physically, but refuses to sleep until I promise to stay.

"You won't leave again?" he asks, his small voice making my chest ache.

"Never." I kiss his forehead. "I promise."

Once he's asleep, Maeve leads me to a tiny living room overlooking the sea. The moon casts a silver path across the water. She stands at the window, arms wrapped around herself.

"Is it really over?" she asks, not turning around.

I move to stand behind her, resting my hands on her shoulders. "Petrov's dead. His men are scattered."

"What about your sister?"

"Cormac has her contained."

She turns to face me. "Contained how?"

"I'm not sure yet." I push her hair back from her face. "But I'm going to find out."

"And then what?"

"Then we start over. Somewhere new. Somewhere safe."

"Safe?" She shakes her head. "Your last name is still Donovan. That follows us everywhere."

"Then I'll change it. Or we'll move so far away nobody's heard of us. Whatever it takes."

She stares at me, looking for something in my face. "I killed a man today. For my son."

"I know."

"I'd do it again."

"I know that too."

She rests her head on my chest. "What does that make me?"

"A mother. A fighter." I tip her face up. "Mine."

"Yours." She sighs. "God help me."

I pull her to me and take her mouth. Hard. She bites my lip, drawing blood as she yanks me closer. I shove her against the wall, my hand finding its way under her shirt. Her skin burns against my palm. She moans into my mouth as I push my thigh between her legs.

"Fuck, I missed you," I mutter against her neck, tasting salt and fear on her skin.