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"Gotta go now," he yells over the engine. "Weather's going bad."

I boost Maeve and Conor into the cabin, then jump in. The door locks just as headlights appear at the airfield edge.

"Friends of yours?" the pilot asks, unfazed. "Hold tight."

The plane races down the runway. Through the window, I see Finn's car block the entrance, muzzle flashes in the dark.

We take off as gunfire cracks below. The plane banks hard over the sea.

"Will Finn be okay?" Conor asks, voice tiny against the engine.

I pull him onto my lap. "He's a tough guy. He'll be fine."

Maeve takes his hand. Our little circle. "We're together now. That's all that matters."

The plane climbs higher. Ireland vanishes behind us. Below, just dark sea. Ahead, Spain. A future I never thought I'd have.

I left Dublin once to protect Maeve. Now I'm leaving with her and our son. No more running from who I am. No more Donovan blood curse.

The pilot turns back. "Six hours to a private strip near Barcelona. Get some sleep if you want."

Sleep? Not fucking likely. I stare out the window, half expecting to see Russians on our tail. Nothing but clouds and stars.

"This isn't over," Maeve says low. "Siobhan, the Russians—they'll keep looking."

"Let them." I look at her in the dim light. "We'll be ghosts."

Conor crashes between us, head on Maeve's lap, feet on mine. Asleep, his face looks peaceful. Like he didn't just see men with guns try to kill us.

"We'll give him normal," I promise Maeve. "School, friends, holidays. They won't find us."

She watches our son, love and pure steel in her eyes. "If they try, they die."

I take her hand across Conor's sleeping body. I see it in her - that same kill-or-die protective rage I feel. We've both taken lives for him. We'd do it again in a heartbeat.

"I love you," I tell her. "Both of you. More than anything."

"Enough to become someone else? To leave Declan Donovan behind?"

"He's already dead." I squeeze her hand. "I'm whoever you need now."

She leans over Conor to kiss me. A promise. "Just be ours. That's all I need."

The plane cuts through night sky toward a new life.

CHAPTER18

MAEVE

"Emma! Emma Murphy!" The shopkeeper waves from behind his fruit stand, and I force a smile as I respond to a name that isn't mine.

Three months in Barcelona and I still flinch at "Emma." Three months living in a rented villa with windows that face the Mediterranean. Three months of pretending to be American expats—David, Emma, and little Sean Murphy—while our real names collect dust.

I balance groceries on my hip and unlock our front door. Shoes scattered in the entryway. Conor's backpack tossed on a chair. Signs of normal family life that feel like props on a stage.

From the balcony, I spot Conor on the beach below, chasing seagulls at the water's edge. His laugh carries on the breeze—one authentic thing in this fake life we've constructed.

Declan walks up behind me, fresh from the shower. "He's been down there an hour already."