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"It means more travel," she continued, excitement bubbling through her voice. "Geneva, New York, sometimes conflict zones. The board wants me to start next month."

"Travel?" I struggled to process this development. "Conflict zones? Is your barista boyfriend going with you?"

She rolled her eyes. "His name is Eli, and he's a coffee artist. Also, he has a degree in international relations and speaks four languages. And no, we're not at that stage yet."

"You'll need additional security," I said automatically. "Especially in conflict areas."

"Luka," she sighed, "we've talked about this. I want a normal life. "

"Normal life, abnormal brother," I reminded her. "Security stays. Non-negotiable."

She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. But nothing obvious. I don't want to alienate the communities I'm trying to help."

"They won't notice a thing," I promised. "And Ana? I'm proud of you. Truly."

Vincent returned with wine glasses, his eyebrows raised at our whispered conversation. "What are you two conspiring about?"

Ana's smile widened. "I got the ICRI directorship."

Vincent's face lit up as he set down the glasses and embraced her. "Ana! That's wonderful news!"

Dinner passed in a blur of plans and possibilities. Ana detailed the programs she wanted to implement, Vincent offering psychology journal references about trauma-informed approaches, me mentally documenting additional security measures we'd need for her international travel.

After dessert, Ana yawned dramatically. "I should get home. Early meeting with the transition team tomorrow."

I walked her to the door while Vincent cleared dishes.

"It's strange, isn't it?” she said at the door. “Building something new after everything?"

"Strange," I agreed. "But good."

After she left, I found Vincent in the greenhouse, checking his plants one last time before bed. The glass structure glowed from within, a crystal box filled with life. I leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

He moved methodically from plant to plant, touching leaves, checking soil moisture. My therapist with his green thumb, nurturing everything from traumatized assassins to temperamental ferns.

"You're staring," he said without turning around .

"Admiring," I corrected, entering the warm, humid space. "There's a difference."

He glanced over his shoulder, smile playing at his lips. "And what are you admiring exactly?"

I moved behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Everything."

Vincent relaxed against me, his head falling back against my shoulder. "Ana's news got to you."

"It's a lot to process," I admitted. "I never thought we'd have this—any of this. I didn't think I'd live this long, let alone see my sister reclaiming her power."

"You helped make it possible," he reminded me, turning in my arms to face me. "By choosing a different path."

I kissed him slowly, pouring into it everything I couldn't articulate—gratitude, wonder, love so intense it still frightened me sometimes. His hands came up to frame my face, holding me with the same care he showed his plants.

The kiss deepened, my tongue exploring his mouth hungrily. Vincent responded instantly, pressing closer, his body aligning perfectly with mine. The humid air of the greenhouse wrapped around us, intensifying every sensation, every scent.

"Here?" he asked against my lips, surprised but not objecting.

I responded by backing him against the central workbench, lifting him onto its edge. Seedlings and garden tools scattered as Vincent grabbed my shoulders for balance, laughing breathlessly.

"Your plants," I murmured, suddenly concerned.

"They'll survive," he replied, pulling me between his legs. "I'm more worried about your patience."

I grinned, hands already working at his belt. "I can be patient when it matters. "

His fingers tangled in my hair as I dropped to my knees, looking up at him from between his thighs. The trust in his eyes still staggered me. This man knew exactly what I was, what I'd done, yet welcomed me into his body, his life, his heart.

"Beautiful," I murmured, tugging his pants down just enough to free him. His cock hardened, the flush spreading across his cheeks making him look younger, vulnerable.

I took him into my mouth without preamble, savoring his sharp gasp, the way his fingers tightened in my hair. My tongue traced patterns along his sensitive skin as I worked him deeper, his moans echoing through the glass structure.

"Luka," he gasped, his professional composure completely undone. "I need you. Now."

I rose, capturing his mouth in a bruising kiss, tasting his desperation. "Turn around."

He complied immediately, bracing himself against the workbench, his trust more arousing than any explicit invitation. I pressed against him, my clothed body against his half-naked one, my hands sliding around to work his shirt buttons.

"Leave it," he ordered, voice rough with need. "Just take me."

The raw demand shattered my restraint. I fumbled in my pocket for the small packet of lube I'd started carrying after our office encounter, prepared him quickly but thoroughly, his body already familiar with mine, welcoming me.

When I finally pushed inside, we both froze for a breathless moment. There was a strange poetry to doing it here, surrounded by life and growth. Vincent had planted something in me eight months ago, something that continued to grow despite my damaged soil, my broken roots .

I began to move, establishing a rhythm that had his knuckles whitening against the edge of the workbench. The humid air carried the scent of earth and green things, of sex and sweat, creating an intoxicating blend unique to this moment, this place.

"Never thought," Vincent gasped between thrusts, "I'd associate my plants with this."

I laughed against his neck, biting gently at the tender skin there. "Consider it fertilization."

His answering laugh transformed into a moan as I shifted angles, finding that perfect spot inside him. His body tightened around me, the sensation of my piercings dragging against his sensitive nerves making him shake beneath me.

"Luka," he warned, voice breaking.

"I've got you," I promised, wrapping my hand around him, stroking in time with my thrusts. "Let go."

He came with a cry that would have embarrassed his professional self, his body pulsing around me, carrying me over the edge after him. I buried myself deep as my own release crashed through me, my forehead pressed against his shoulder, our bodies locked together in the most ancient dance.

Afterward, we cleaned up with a garden hose sprayer and paper towels, laughing at the absurdity. Vincent surveyed his disturbed plants with mock severity.

"You're repotting all of these tomorrow," he declared, straightening a tilted aloe.

"Small price to pay," I replied, pulling him into another kiss. "Let's go to bed."

Upstairs, security monitors disguised as ambient lighting displayed all-clear signals from the property perimeter. The weapons safe tucked discreetly into the wall remained secure. The balcony doors stood open, letting in the summer night breeze.

As Vincent disappeared into the bathroom, I pulled the Judas Coin from my pants pocket, turning it over in my fingers. The ancient silver caught the moonlight, the worn face of the profile seeming to watch me. Just metal, just a coin, but weighted with centuries of tradition and reverence.

According to Pantheon lore, these thirty pieces of silver represented the ultimate contract.

A ferryman who accepted a Judas Coin became bound by honor and tradition to fulfill its demands.

No resources, no support, no interference.

Not even the Tribunal could step in once a Judas Coin changed hands.

I'd kept it locked in a specially designed case for the first month after receiving it, treating it with the reverence tradition demanded.

Then curiosity had overtaken caution. I'd begun carrying it, studying it, trying to understand the weight it carried in our world.

Not magic, but something perhaps more powerful—an unbreakable code that had survived centuries.

Vincent emerged from the bathroom and froze, his eyes locking onto the coin in my hand. "You're still carrying it."

I nodded, closing my fingers around it. "Rhadamanthys said I should keep it close."

Vincent approached slowly, sitting beside me on the bed. "What is it exactly? You've never really explained."

"A Judas Coin," I said, opening my palm to reveal it again. "One of thirty pieces of silver paid to Judas Iscariot. Or so the tradition claims."

His finger hovered over it but didn't touch. "And its purpose?"

"Obligation beyond obligation," I replied simply. "When presented to a ferryman, it creates a contract that cannot be refused. One that exists outside the Pantheon's authority. "

"Has it ever been used?" Vincent asked, studying the worn silver.

"Not in living memory," I echoed Rhadamanthys's words. "But violating its terms would bring consequences worse than death. Break your word on a Judas Coin contract, and you'd have every Judge hunting you until the end of your days."

Vincent's brow furrowed. "You should lock it up again."

"Probably," I agreed, but returned it to my pocket instead. Some things needed to be kept close, not out of superstition but respect for what they represented. "Tomorrow."

I slid under the sheets, pulling Vincent with me. His body curled against mine perfectly, his head finding its familiar place on my shoulder. "What were you really thinking about earlier? When Lo left?"

I hesitated, weighing how much to share. "His contract came directly from Dionysus."

Vincent's hand stilled. "Like yours came from Prometheus."

"Exactly." I stared at the ceiling. "It's probably nothing. Dionysus raised Lo, trained him. The parallel might be coincidental."

"But you're worried."

I nodded. "The timing. The personal connection. It feels like..."

"Like history repeating itself," Vincent finished.

"Lo can handle himself," I said, more to convince myself than Vincent.

Vincent studied me in the dim light. "That's not the only thing bothering you."

Sometimes having a therapist for a partner was inconvenient. He could read me too easily, spot the fracture lines I tried to hide.

"Ana's news," I admitted. "I'm happy for her, but it complicates things."

"Security-wise? "

"That, and..." I struggled to articulate the tangled emotions. "It's a reminder that our world is expanding. More vulnerabilities. More to lose."

Vincent propped himself up on one elbow. "Or more to live for."

I smiled at the correction. "You've been saying that for eight months."

"Because for eight months, you've been counting threats instead of blessings." His fingers traced my jawline. "Old habits."

"I'm getting better," I protested mildly.

"You are," he agreed. "The Luka I met would never have agreed to guest lecture for my class."

I groaned. "Don't remind me."

"Just be yourself," he advised, laughing. "Well, maybe not all of yourself. I don’t allow gummy worms in my classroom."

"What will I even talk about?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"The field perspective," he replied promptly. "What therapists need to understand about what assets face. You have unique insight."

I pulled him closer, breathing in the scent of him—shower gel, greenhouse humidity, something uniquely Vincent. "Will they understand any of it?"

"Does it matter?" He settled against my chest. "We know the truth."

The truth. Such a simple phrase for something so complex.

The truth was that I had been a weapon, a killer, a tool for greater powers.

Now I was a director, a reformer, a lover, a brother.

The truth was that I had been broken and reassembled, not by Prometheus but by my own choices, by Vincent's unwavering belief in me, by Ana's return.

"I love you," I said quietly into the darkness. The words came easier now, though they still felt weighty, significant.

"I know," Vincent replied, his voice already heavy with approaching sleep. "I love you too."

Outside our window, the night stretched peaceful and still.

Security sensors monitored the perimeter, advanced systems tracked potential threats.

In my discarded pants on the floor, the Judas Coin waited, a silent reminder that some contracts bound men through honor and tradition more effectively than any chain.

My hand drifted to Vincent's hair, stroking gently as his breathing deepened into sleep.

Danger would never fully disappear—not with my position, not with my past. But here, in this moment, with Vincent's steady breathing against my chest and Ana's cottage glowing softly in the distance, I felt something like peace.

Not the absence of threats, but the presence of something worth protecting.

And that was worth any price.