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He paused, studying Luka's face. "And now Prometheus is dead. While the circumstances differ, certain elements surrounding his death raise... questions."

"You think there's a connection?" Luka asked.

Rhadamanthys's smile was razor thin. "I didn't say that. What I'm saying is that these... coincidences... warrant scrutiny. As a Judge, I observe patterns. Nothing more."

"Zeus," Luka said.

Rhadamanthys's expression remained carefully neutral. "A theory. Nothing more. Whether Zeus exists as an individual or a coalition—or at all—remains unclear. But someone, somewhere, benefits from these... changes in leadership."

"Why tell me this?" Luka asked, suspicion evident in his voice.

"Because, Director Aleksandar, you've just promised reforms that strike at the heart of the Pantheon's most sacred traditions. Consider your position carefully. The reforms you propose have consequences beyond their immediate impact."

"You think my appointment is a setup."

"I think a wise man would watch his back." The Judge's eyes narrowed. "Especially one implementing controversial reforms with so many... interested parties observing."

I watched Luka absorb this, his jaw tightening.

"So I should abandon the reforms?" Luka asked.

"I did not say that." Rhadamanthys adjusted his bolo tie.

"I merely suggest prudence. Documentation.

Awareness. Build your network carefully.

Trust selectively." He tapped Luka's chest with one finger.

"The Pantheon houses many 'concerned colleagues' who'll offer support with one hand while measuring your coffin with the other. "

"Comforting," Luka said dryly.

"This is not a game, piccolo," Rhadamanthys said. "You've stepped into a position with certain... historical vulnerabilities. Be vigilant. The reforms you propose are... necessary. Many would agree. But necessity and safety rarely walk hand in hand." He tipped his hat to us and made his exit.

I took Luka’s hand and squeezed it. "Luka, if that's true—"

"It's still better than the alternative," he cut me off. "At least this time I have position and resources. And you. Let's celebrate tonight."

I smiled, relief still washing through me in waves. "What did you have in mind?"

"Dinner. The three of us." His eyes moved to Ana, who walked slightly ahead with Lo. "Maybe at that little place in the East Quarter? The one with the Bosnian dishes."

"Amina's?" I asked, remembering our last meal there, how he'd shared pieces of his childhood with me.

"Yeah." Something softened in his expression. "I think Ana might like it."

The restaurant welcomed us like old friends, Amina's weathered face breaking into a smile when she spotted Luka. Her eyes widened seeing Ana beside him, her gaze darting between their identical blue eyes before understanding dawned.

"Two of you now?" she asked, her accent thick but her meaning clear. "Twins?"

Luka nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. "My sister."

Ana's eyes widened at the first taste of ajvar spread on fresh somun bread. "This tastes like..." she trailed off, tears gathering in her eyes. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles whitening. "I can't—there's something—"

"What is it?" I asked, leaning forward.

"Laughter," she whispered, her accent suddenly thickening. "A wooden table. Mama scolding someone... you?" Her gaze snapped to Luka, confusion clouding her features. "It's real. It's actually real."

"You're remembering," I said gently. "When powerful memories resurface, they can feel overwhelming."

She pushed the plate away abruptly, her hands trembling.

"He made me believe we were Serbian. That my parents died in the conflict when I was six.

That he rescued me from a refugee camp." Her eyes darted around the restaurant, momentarily disoriented.

"He made me proud of a heritage that wasn't even mine.

The heritage of people who killed our parents. "

"Ana," Luka said softly, "you don't have to do this now."

She shook her head fiercely. "No. I need to.

I need to remember." She took another bite of the ajvar, this time deliberately, methodically.

Her eyes closed as she chewed. "We had goats," she said suddenly, her voice gaining confidence.

"And I hated milking them because my hands would get so cold in the morning. "

Luka nodded, a painful hope etched across his face. "Three goats. You named the smallest one Svjetlo because her coat was almost white."

"Light," Ana translated, her expression growing clearer. "It meant light."

The memories seemed to come in waves. Each taste, each smell, unlocked another piece of their shared past. She would remember something vivid and specific: their father's prayer beads clicking softly in the evening, the sound of the adhan calling them to prayer as children, the smell of their mother's bread.

Each time, her eyes would light with recognition.

"It's strange," she said quietly. "I know these memories are real.

I know I was Bosniak, not Serbian. I know we were Muslim, not Orthodox.

But there's still this... echo. These false memories feel so real, even though I know they're not.

" She pressed her palms against her temples.

"I have both versions in my head, fighting for space. "

Watching them discover each other through these fragments made my chest ache.

This wasn't just a reunion; it was healing happening before my eyes.

The enormity of what Prometheus had done, not just separating siblings but erasing Ana's Bosniak Muslim heritage and replacing it with the identity of her oppressors, made my blood boil.

Seeing them reclaim pieces of their shared past felt sacred, a privilege to witness.

I raised my glass. "To new beginnings."

"And to endings," Ana added softly. "Some things needed to end."

We clinked glasses, the simple ritual sealing something important between us. Three people from wildly different backgrounds, bound together by circumstance and choice.

"So," I asked after Amina cleared our plates, "what's the grand plan now? Speaking as your unofficial therapist and definitely not a member of your assassination organization."

"The first priority is a complete overhaul of asset recruitment and training," Luka replied. "No more children. No more breaking people down to rebuild them as weapons."

"A new approach could transform how the organization operates," I suggested, already imagining the possibilities.

"That's where you come in," Luka said, his eyes meeting mine. "If you're willing to take on that challenge."

"Working with assassins?" I smiled despite myself. "Well, I did fall in love with one, so I suppose I'm already compromised."

"What about me?" Ana asked quietly. "Where do I go from here?"

Luka took her hand gently. "Wherever you want. You're completely free now."

She nodded, thinking. "I need to sell everything—the house, the cars, all of it. I don't want anything he bought me." A determined look crossed her face. "I'll donate it all to the charity. Refocus our work on human trafficking victims in war zones."

"You can stay in the Acropolis while you heal," Luka offered. "A private suite, near us, but your own space."

"And after that?" she asked .

I smiled, an idea taking shape. "We were thinking of building a place, actually. Across the river, above the Acropolis. There's enough land for a main house and a separate cottage. Independence but not isolation."

"And a greenhouse," Luka added, glancing at me. "A big one."

Ana's eyes filled with tears, but she smiled. "I'd like that. To be close but... finding myself too."

"We'll figure it out together," Luka promised. "One day at a time."

After dinner, we walked through the East Quarter marketplace, where vendors sold everything from weapons to rare books to exotic foods. Ana found a stall selling handcrafted jewelry and spent time examining pieces that reminded her of her mother's necklace.

I wandered toward a small nursery tucked between a knife shop and a bookstore. The elderly proprietor watched me examine his plants. "Looking for something specific?".

"Actually, yes. Do you have any ferns? And maybe a cactus?"

By the time we reunited near the fountain at the center of the marketplace, I carried a carefully wrapped package containing two healthy plants: a young Boston Fern to replace Fern Michaels and a Moon Cactus that would have made the late Jeremy proud.

My heart ached with an odd mix of joy and loss as I thought about my abandoned plant family.

Luka appeared moments later, holding a similar package.

"Great minds," he said, nodding to my plants as he handed me his package.

Inside, I found a tiny potted succulent, perfectly suited for a desk or windowsill. "What's this one called?" Luka asked, turning the little plant to examine it from all angles, exactly as he'd once studied my head through his sniper scope .

"That's up to you," I replied. "But I was thinking maybe 'Ana' would be appropriate. Hardy, resilient, thrives under difficult conditions. Impossible to kill unless you really commit to it."

His eyes met mine, full of something I'd never seen there before—a lightness, a freedom. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my lips, mindful of our public setting but seemingly unconcerned with who might see the new director showing affection.

"Perfect," he murmured.

His hands lingered at my waist, fingers pressing subtly against my lower back. The innocent gesture carried an electric undercurrent of possession that sent heat rushing through me. His eyes darkened as he registered my response, pupils expanding rapidly.

"We should head back," he said. "Before I decide to find out exactly how private the alcoves in this marketplace really are."

I swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of every place our bodies connected. "That would certainly make an impression on your first day as director."

"I'm more interested in the impression I plan to make on you tomorrow," he replied, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip in a gesture that appeared casual but felt intensely intimate. "In my new office."

The promise in his voice made my skin tighten with anticipation. Three weeks ago, I'd have been appalled at the impropriety of the suggestion. Now, the thought of Luka claiming that space—claiming me in that space—sent a rush of desire straight through me.

Ana returned with a small package of her own, which she presented to Luka.

"It's not much, but..." She handed him a leather cord with a small silver charm shaped like a leaf.

"To replace the one you lost. Mother's necklace had two charms originally: the feather she gave me, and the leaf she gave you. I had this one made."

Luka stared at it, momentarily speechless. His fingers closed around it tightly before he slipped it over his head, the silver leaf resting against his chest.

"Thank you," he said simply, but the words carried the weight of twenty-six years of separation.

As we walked back toward our quarters, plants and packages in hand, I found myself marveling at how drastically my life had changed.

Three weeks ago, I'd been Dr. Vincent Matthews, respected trauma therapist with a carefully constructed life.

Now I walked beside the director of assassins, my heart so full of love for him I could barely breathe with it.

"What are you thinking about?" Luka asked.

"How sometimes the path we think we're on isn't the one we're meant to follow," I replied. "And how finding the right path can look a lot like getting completely lost first."

He nodded. "When I took your contract, I thought I knew exactly who I was and what I was doing."

"And now?"

"Now I'm the most powerful asset in the North American branch." His shoulders tensed subtly, a muscle working in his jaw. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken implications.

"It changes things," he finally said, eyes fixed on something distant. "Before, I could only get you killed. Now I can get you compromised."

The layers in that simple statement spoke volumes about his fears. Not just for my physical safety, but for my integrity, my principles.

"I've crossed every ethical line already," I said quietly.

His gaze snapped to mine, suddenly intense.

"Not like this. Before, we were fugitives together.

Equal in our desperation. Now I hold the power to order death.

To make decisions that violate everything you believe in.

" His fingers tightened around mine. "And one day, you might wake up and realize you don't recognize yourself anymore. Or me."

There it was, his deepest fear wrapped in practicalities. Not that I'd leave him for someone safer, but that I'd stay and watch him become Prometheus.

"Listen to me." I stepped closer, close enough to feel his breath. "I didn't fall for some idealized version of you. I fell for the man who named my plants while planning to kill me. Who fights his conditioning every day. Who chose to protect rather than destroy."

Something vulnerable flickered across his face. "You make it sound simple."

"It's anything but simple." I brushed my thumb across his cheekbone. "We'll figure it out together."

His expression softened. "You really mean that."

"I do," I assured him. "We'll figure out the new dynamics day by day. Together."

We arrived at our quarters, Ana bidding us goodnight at the elevator before retiring to her new suite just down the hall from ours.

"Tomorrow's going to be complicated," he said, staring out at the Acropolis. "First day as director. Prometheus's office."

I moved to stand behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Take time to make the space yours first."

He leaned back against me slightly. "I was thinking about having them clear everything out. New furniture. New everything."

"Reclaiming the space," I agreed. "That's a powerful first step."

He turned in my arms. "And then perhaps we could... create some new memories there."

My pulse quickened. "What kind of memories did you have in mind, Director? "

His fingers traced my jawline, a small smile playing at his lips. "I have a few ideas."