Page 87 of Wraith (Deviant Assassin #1)

The sunroom fills with the comfortable chaos of people who've learned to trust each other settling in for a meal.

Phoenix has taken charge of seating arrangements with the efficiency of someone used to managing logistics, placing the boys between herself and Sable, Kiera across from them where she can easily see their faces, and me between Kiera and Wild in a configuration that feels both natural and protective.

Esther takes her place at the head of the table like the queen she is, while Tristan settles into the remaining chair with the careful casualness of a man used to being alert in any environment.

I notice the way his gaze occasionally drifts to Sable when she's speaking, but he's subtle about it—the kind of attention that speaks to professional awareness rather than anything obvious.

"So," Phoenix says, passing a plate of perfectly arranged pastries, "Kiera. I feel like we should properly introduce ourselves, considering how much time you're going to be spending with my brother."

There's no hostility in her voice, but there's definitely assessment. Phoenix has always been protective of the people she considers family, and while she's accepted that Kiera is important to me, she still needs to take her measure.

Kiera meets her gaze directly, no submission but no challenge either.

"I've heard a lot about you. Blade says you're the only person he trusts completely."

"That was true," Phoenix agrees, "until recently. Now I think that list has expanded."

She glances meaningfully between Wild and me, and I feel something settle in my chest. Phoenix's approval matters to me more than I like to admit, and knowing she sees what we've built, understands its value, makes this feel more real somehow.

"Tell me about the school," Kiera says to Sable, smoothly redirecting attention from our relationship dynamics. "What's it like there?"

Sable's posture straightens slightly, the way it does when she's talking about something she cares about.

"It's good for them," she says, nodding toward Crue and Cassius. "Small classes, individual attention, but normal enough they can just be kids. Some of the students there have... complicated backgrounds. They understand what it's like to need a fresh start."

"And the staff?" Wild asks, his FBI training showing in the way he evaluates potential threats even in casual conversation.

"Carefully vetted," Tristan says, his voice carrying the authority of someone who's done the vetting personally. "Everyone there has been cleared by Umber's security division. The boys will be safe."

Safe. It's a word that means something different to people like us than it does to civilians.

For us, safe means armed guards disguised as groundskeepers, teachers trained in tactical response, and escape routes mapped from every room.

But for Crue and Cassius, it will just mean being able to sleep without checking the locks three times and walking to class without looking over their shoulders.

"What about visits?" Crue asks, cutting into the conversation with the direct approach of teenage impatience. "Can we come back here sometimes? And to the funeral home?"

"Whenever you want," I tell him. "Esther's already arranged for a car service that runs between the school and here twice a week. And Boo along with Fi would probably stage a revolt if you didn't visit him regularly."

Cassius grins. "He really misses us that much?"

"He stress-cleaned the entire house three times," Kiera says dryly. "Then started reorganizing the supply closets. I had to hide his cleaning supplies before he drove himself crazy."

The boys laugh, and the sound does something to the atmosphere in the room, lightens it in a way that speaks to how much they're needed here. Not as burdens or responsibilities, but as the living reminder of what we're all fighting to protect.

"I have something for you both," Esther says, reaching into her purse and withdrawing two small boxes. "Consider them graduation gifts."

Crue and Cassius exchange glances before Crue, as the older, accepts both boxes. Inside are matching watches—expensive but not ostentatious, the kind of thing wealthy families give their children.

"They're not just timepieces," Esther explains. "Built-in GPS tracking, panic buttons, and encrypted communication capabilities. Because while you deserve to be normal teenagers, you also deserve to know that help is never more than a button press away."

The boys examine the watches with the reverence of kids who understand both the gift and its implications. They're being trusted with real responsibility, treated like adults capable of making their own choices about safety and risk.

"Thank you," Cassius says quietly. "For everything. For letting us choose."

Choice. It's something most of these kids never had before—the luxury of deciding for themselves what kind of life they want to live. Watching them now, healthy and happy and planning for a future that includes friends and homework and school dances, I'm reminded why this work matters.

"Speaking of the assignment," Tristan says, his voice carrying professional focus, "we should probably discuss logistics when you have time."

"New assignment?" Wild asks, his attention sharpening.

Esther smiles. "Nothing urgent, but there have been some... developments... in our European operations that require a delicate touch. The kind that might benefit from a team with your particular skills."

The heat, the weight of Kiera and Wild both focusing on that phrase—'team with your particular skills.’ Three months ago, the idea of the three of us working together would have been laughable. Now it feels inevitable.

"When?" Kiera asks, and there's something in her voice, an eagerness that tells me she's ready for this. Ready to stop hiding what she is and start using her abilities for something that feels like purpose.

"After the boys are settled at school," Esther says. "A few weeks, perhaps a month. Enough time for you to rest, plan and prepare."

Prepare. It sounds so civilized, but I know what she means. Time for us to solidify what we've built, to practice working as a unit instead of three separate people with competing agendas. Time to become the weapon we have the potential to be.

Under the table, Kiera's hand finds mine, our fingers interlacing in a gesture that's become as natural as breathing. On her other side, Wild shifts closer, his knee brushing hers in casual contact that speaks to how comfortable we've all become with this arrangement.

"Europe sounds nice," Wild says mildly. "I haven't been there since college."

"This won't be a sightseeing trip," Tristan warns, but there's amusement in his voice.

"The best ones never are," Kiera replies, and something in her tone makes me think she's already planning, already strategizing.

It's a side of her I'm still learning to appreciate—not just the killer, but the tactician. The woman who can see twelve moves ahead and plan for contingencies no one else would consider.

"Will we have backup?" Wild asks, falling easily into operational planning mode.

"Each other," Esther says simply. "That's the point. You three have proven you can work together under pressure. Now let's see what you can accomplish when you have time to plan."

The conversation continues, moving from logistics to lighter topics, but I find myself watching the interplay between everyone at the table.

Phoenix and Kiera discovering they share a dry sense of humor.

Wild and Tristan bonding over their mutual appreciation for tactical planning.

Sable engaging easily with the boys, her psychology background evident in how she draws them out.

And through it all, the boys just being boys—stealing extra pastries, making plans for their return to school, talking about friends and classes and all the wonderfully mundane things teenagers should care about.

This is what we've built. Not just a relationship between the three of us, but a family. A place where damaged people can heal, where kids can be kids, where love comes in forms that don't fit conventional definitions but work anyway.

Kiera squeezes my hand, and when I look at her, there's contentment in her dark eyes that I've never seen before. Peace, maybe, or at least the beginning of it. Wild catches my eye over her head and nods slightly, a gesture of understanding that speaks to how well we've learned to read each other.

"So," Phoenix says, raising her coffee cup in a mock toast, "to new beginnings, old friends and the family we choose for ourselves."

"To choices," Kiera adds softly, her gaze moving between Crue and Cassius and then back to Wild and me.

"To home," Wild says, and the word carries weight, finality.

I lift my own cup, feeling the truth of it settle in my chest. "To us."

The toast is echoed around the table, even by the boys who've graduated to coffee for the occasion. Outside, the sun streams through the windows, painting everything in warm gold light that makes this moment feel suspended in time.

Perfect. Peaceful. Ours.

For now, that's enough. Tomorrow we'll go back to being who we are—killers and criminals and broken people trying to build something good from the wreckage of our lives. But today, we're just family having brunch together, and that's everything.