Page 111 of The Last Morgan

Lucy froze, spine straightening.

She didn’t look back.

“Get him out of my sight,” she ordered. “Separate cell. No one talks to him but me.”

Damien moved forward without hesitation, hauling Jimmy upright. As he was dragged away, Jimmy kept laughing..

“You’re almost there, Lucy,” he called out. “Almost…”

Then the door slammed shut, leaving her in silence.

Corey stepped closer. “What now?”

Lucy swallowed. “Let’s go outside for some air.”

Corey didn’t hesitate. He could read her distress like one of Barnaby’s digital scans— He followed her out through the grand double doors at the front of the estate, the air biting and fresh against their skin.

Lucy paced the garden like a caged lion. Her fists clenched and unclenched by her sides, her breath coming in short, frustrated bursts.

“The fuck is going on, Corey?” she snapped, spinning to face him. “I thought this was just about money. Now I’m questioning everything.”

“It’s only natural,” Corey said firmly, stepping closer. “Look at everything you have been through; this game of cat and mouse has zero comparison.”

Her eyes flickering in the dim light of the garden lamps. “What if this whole life I’ve been chasing was just... a distraction from something darker?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then we find the truth. That’s what we’ve always done. You want to open the box now? Or go back and beat more riddles out of Jimmy?”

Lucy groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “I need something. Anything. A moment to fucking breathe.”

She glanced across the path and spotted one of the Black Doves standing silently by a pillar, a cigarette glowing between his fingers like a tiny, defiant torch. He was tall, striking, wrapped in dark tactical gear, but it was the way he smoked that caught her eye. “Doesn’t that reduce stress?” Lucy muttered to herself before stomping toward him.

Corey blinked. “Wait—are you serious?”

“Deadly,” she said.

She marched up to the Dove and extended a hand. “Can I get one of those?”

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes unreadable in the moonlight. “You don’t smoke.”

“Desperate times,” Lucy said with a shrug. “I’ve had enough of an identity crisis for one day. I just need to relax.”

He chuckled dryly, then handed her a cigarette and lit it with a small flick of his metal lighter. “Name’s Ethan.”

“Lucy,” she said, holding the cigarette like it was a live grenade.

“I know,” he replied coolly.

“How is he?” Ethan asked after a pause.

“Stable... for now,” Lucy said. “Go see him if you want. He’s probably pretending to be asleep just to avoid me nagging.”

Ethan gave a small nod, tossed his cigarette to the gravel, and crushed it beneath his boot before turning and disappearing into the house.

Lucy looked at the cigarette. “Alright, lungs, don’t fail me now.”

She took a long drag.

And immediately doubled over, coughing like she’d just swallowed a hedgehog. Her eyes watered, her nose burned, and she flailed slightly, waving the cigarette like it had personally betrayed her.