thebestisyettocome

Sofia leans back against one of the desks mid-room, arms loosely crossed. Farrah from billing flashes her a small smile, which she returns before Farrah parrots a polite “good morning” next to her.

“And to some of you,” Ward continues with that practiced charm, “welcome. Mondays, as hopefully most of you are aware, are the start of a new week, and we’ve got a lot to get done.” His grin widens just enough. “The Handel case should be wrapping up soon, and word has it we are hands down going to win it.”

A few whoops break out, mainly from the front. Ward laughs under his breath and nods. “Thanks to Mark Wheaton and Sarah O’Conners for their expertise in and out of the courtroom.” A round of claps follows.

“Now,” Ward’s tone shifts, sliding into business mode, “we’ve got a few others on the burner. New York v. Orion Pharmaceuticals—” a low murmur ripples across the room, “—and the GlobalTech Data Breach Class Action. Both are hot-button this week. We’ll be holding a think tank next week for prelims, so if you’re able, join us in the Culper Room.” More murmurs of agreement hum through the crowd.

“And,” he adds with a tight smile, “we have our new junior associates starting today. Let’s welcome them with hospitality and a smile.”

A chorus of amused groans answers him, and Ward’s expression turns knowingly amused.

“Right,” he chuckles. “Now, I’ll need a volunteer to show them around…”

The room turns to crickets. No one moves.

Ward’s gaze sweeps the group, pausing when he finds a tall sandy-haired brunette lounging like the room is his. Short-cropped hair, leg crossed casually over the other knee, designer pant leg hiked up just enough to show equally expensive socks tucked into unscuffed loafers that Sofia knows costs a fortune. Authority practically oozes off him.

“Rafe,” Ward smiles like it’s not even a question, “how ’bout it?”

“Sorry,” Rafe drawls without missing a beat, confidence dripping off every word. “Got the Carroway Industries case.”

Ward hesitates just long enough to show the conflict before covering it with a professional nod. “Right.” He scans the room again. “Anyone—”

Sofia raises her hand, just enough to catch his eye.

“Thank you, Ms. Alvarez.” Ward’s smile softens professionally. Suddenly she feels those piercing blue eyes lock on her, heavy even from across the room. She doesn’t return the gaze.

Ward wraps up the Monday briefing with a few more points of business before dismissing them to “another great week.”

The room dissolves into chatter, coworkers splitting off to desks and conference rooms. Sofia straightens from her perch, easily spotting the seven new hires clustered together like nervous freshmen. Their wide-eyed fidgeting pulls at her sympathy. Maybe that’s why she volunteered—someone should at least make their first day less miserable.

They all look at her like she’s the answer to everything. She isn’t.

“Welcome to Cameron, Groff, Robinson & Associates,” she says, stopping in front of them with an easy stance, one heel crossed over the other, hands resting on her hips. “See you all made it on time. First hurdle down.”

“Where do we start?” asks the tallest of the group, a dark-skinned guy with stars in his eyes.

“Names,” she says matter-of-factly, but there’s a hint of amusement there. “Sofia Alvarez.”

The curly-haired one with brown-flecked eyes and an easy grin steps up, hand extended. “John Rutledge. I prefer John B.”

She raises a brow, impressed by the confidence, and shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

The rest follow quickly:

“Kiara Carrera.”

“Pope Heyward.”

“Travis Hunter.”

“Marcus Browning.”

“Aiden Pierce.”

“Noah Kares.”

She gives them each a polite smile.

“Well, welcome again. I’ll show you around, give you the lay of the land, and then get you to your desks. Sound good?”

They all nod.

“Perfect. Now, what’s your expertise? What department are you aiming for?”

They glance at each other like she’s speaking another language.

Realization clicks.

“Criminal law,” Travis answers first, almost proud.

She nods. Around here, Criminal means white collar. When you work at one of the most prestigious law firms in New York, that’s the pool of “criminal” you’re swimming in.

“Oh, same,” John B adds, exchanging a relieved grin with Travis.

“Personal injury,” Pope supplies.

The others follow: Noah—tax and property. Marcus—environmental. Aiden—general practice, willing to try everything to find his niche.

Respectable.

Kiara comes last. “Family.”

“Wonderful,” Sofia acknowledges. “You all came to the right place.”

Pope raises a hand even though he doesn’t need to. “What’s your role here?”

She perks up slightly. “I’m actually Family law.” She smiles briefly at Kiara who perks up just a little more. “I work to protect people’s interests the best I can.”

Kiara smiles at that, an almost knowing one.

“Any other questio—”

A hand brushes against her back. It’s brief, barely there, but enough to spark annoyance that no doubt will linger.

“Well, well, well.” The voice drips superiority. “Newbies.”

She doesn’t need to turn to know who it is.

“Don’t fuck up,” Rafe Cameron adds with a smirk, standing far too close.

She glares up at him, ready to bite. “That’s just great—”

He leans down over her shoulder, gaze cutting over the new associates like he’s already sized them up. “Careful with this one,” he says, tilting his head toward her. “She bites if you don’t listen.”

Her fist curls against her hip. She wants to slap him, but he’s already walking away, laughing to himself like he just won something.

Aiden breaks the silence. “That was—”

“Uncalled for,” Kiara finishes, scowling after him.

Sofia exhales sharply through her nose. “Rafe Cameron is, on a good day, pretty insufferable.”

“Cameron?” Kiara asks, and a few of them glance the way he left.

“Yep. Our very own nepo baby and unfortunately one of the best criminal law associates.” She huffs, annoyed at having to admit it. “He actually takes after his dad.”

“Ward Cameron,” Travis says, awestruck staring at Rafe’s retreating form.

Sofia nods.

“Wow,” John B breathes.

“Don’t fall in love just yet,” she tosses over her shoulder, already moving. “Now, let’s get this show on the road. We’ve all got work to get to.”

…..

Sofia leads them down the hall, heels clicking lightly against the polished floors. They pass conference rooms of varying sizes, glass walls giving quick glimpses of meetings in progress. Of partners in sharp suits leaning over case files, associates scribbling notes, tense depositions underway, and think tanks already buzzing with strategy.

Phones ring somewhere in the background, and the receptionist at the front desk offers a quick smile to the group before pivoting to answer a call. The whole place hums with that early-morning energy. Focused and fast if not slightly chaotic. It’s fuel.

“This,” Sofia says, stopping short of the kitchen, “is the best room in the building.”

The group cranes their necks to take it in. The kitchen spans the wall, sleek and bright, three glass-front fridges lined with every drink imaginable: juices, teas, waters, energy drinks. Funnily enough, Coke is still the king here, always disappearing first during late nights in the library or those dreaded think tanks that stretch on forever.

Across the island, snacks sit neatly displayed in baskets. A small salad bar gleams in the corner, stocked fresh every morning. Even with all the catering, it gets hit up constantly.

“Everything in here is up for grabs,” she says, pointing to the coveted espresso bar gleaming like an altar to caffeine. “You can make pretty much any latte, espresso, hot coffee, cold coffee… whatever gets you through your day.”

“Wow,” someone breathes. Sofia hides her grin; she had the same reaction her first week.

“If there’s something you don’t see,” she gestures to a whiteboard tucked into the corner, “write it down. They restock weekly, so odds are it’ll show up next time.”

“Anything?” Pope asks, curiosity laced with awe.

“Within reason, yeah,” she replies with a knowing smile. “Catering happens three or four times a week too. Bagels from Tompkins one morning, Joe’s pizza for lunch the next. Sometimes they put out a poll, so you get to vote for what wins.”

The newbies exchange impressed looks. Free food will do that to anyone. Sofia doesn’t blame them. When you’re working for one of the top firms in New York, the perks help soften the grind.

“People will even throw a blast on the office Slack when they're ordering from random spots around the city, and you can just opt in.” She smiles at their glee. “Let’s keep moving. I’ve got a 9:30.”

They follow her deeper into the maze of glass and light until she stops at a door marked Records. Inside, the air smells faintly of old books and spilled ink. Floor-to-ceiling shelves line the walls, crammed with case law and legal texts, all precedent to use in case work. At the front desk, a young Black woman with dark hair piled into a claw clip flips through a stack of books, pen tucked behind her ear.

“Hey, Sofia.” Cleo looks up with a warm smile, then notices the group clustered behind her.

“Hey, Cleo.” Sofia turns to the newbies. “Everyone, this is Cleo Grant. She’s our records keeper. If you ever need to find a specific text or anything buried in the archives, she’s your gal.”

“If you’re on my good side,” Cleo teases, fluttering her lashes dramatically.

Sofia smirks. “Return whatever you take, or she will track you down.”

“I will find you,” Cleo adds with a sweet, disarming smile.

“How old are you?” Pope blurts, genuine curiosity shining through.

Next to him, Kiara smacks his shoulder with a glare.

“What?” Pope looks around defensively. “She just doesn’t… look like a librarian.”

“I’m not a librarian,” Cleo says smoothly. “I’m studying to be a paralegal.”

“She’s in her final year,” Sofia adds proudly.

Pope’s eyes widen in apology. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant.” Cleo’s smile turns tight-lipped, but there’s no real bite behind it.

Sofia steps in before the awkwardness lingers. “Why don’t we get you guys to your desks?”

She shoots Cleo a smile, which is returned with an easy nod, and steers the group back into the hall.

They weave through another stretch of offices until they reach a corner space tucked away from the main windows. The light here is harsher on this side of the office. Overhead LEDs line the ceiling that probably cost more than a night out in the city, but still manage to feel sterile. Sleek desks gleam under the glare, and Sofia gestures broadly.

“Here’s home base,” Sofia says, stepping aside so they can take in the row of desks tucked neatly in the back corner. “It’s not the flashiest spot in the building, but it’s where you’ll live until you start earning your stripes.”

The newbies look around, wide-eyed, taking in the sleek monitors, polished surfaces, and ergonomic chairs that probably cost more than their first apartment’s rent. Even without windows, the space radiates money. Sterile but undeniably expensive.

Because of course it does. This is Cameron, Groff, Robinson & Associates. They spare no expense.

“What next?” Marcus asks, a spark of eager energy lighting his face.

Sofia allows herself a small, knowing smile. She exhales like she’s letting them in on a secret, then leans in just slightly.

“Piece of advice. When starting a new job,” she says, pausing long enough to catch all their eyes, “check your calendar.”

She delivers it playfully, almost a whisper, then straightens.

And just like that, she turns on her heel, leaving them to their own devices. They’ll figure it out.

She’s got her own shit to deal with.

~~~~~~~~~~

John B glances around at his friends. New colleagues, technically, but still his crew in spirit. Nobody moves at first. It’s like they’re all waiting for some unspoken cue.

Then chaos.

Travis and Marcus nearly trip each other diving for the same desk, both muttering “called it” like five-year-olds. Noah cuts around them like he’s in a race, claiming the next spot without so much as a glance back.

John B smirks, taking his time. No need to be desperate. He spots an aisle desk which looks to have a perfect escape route and a good view. He slides a hand onto the chair, about to pull it out—

Pope comes out of nowhere, shoulder-checking past with a grin way too smug for this early in the day. He drops into the chair with a satisfied sigh and even spins halfway to flash John B a grin. A willful grin.

“Seriously?” John B mutters. Pope just shrugs like, should’ve moved faster, man.

Fine. Middle desk it is. He turns just as Kiara slaps her hand down on it, eyes daring him to even try.

“Not happening,” she says flatly.

John B throws his hands up in surrender, laughing under his breath.

By the time he actually surveys what’s left, the only open spot is shoved into the corner, wedged against a bland white wall with zero view of the room. Prime “nobody puts baby in a corner” territory.

Fuck.

With a resigned sigh, he drags his bag over and drops into the chair. The wall stares back at him. Figures.

He settles in to his new home for the foreseeable future, testing out the chair like he’s testing a new car, dusting off the monitor in front of him, ensuring it turns on and works as expected.

Quickly sigining in and getting situated, there’s already an email waiting for him, welcoming him to his first day. A whole guide from IT on everything he needs to know about security and his personal accounts. And then lastly, just as Sofia suggested, his calendar which has his next meeting in 10 minutes.

Lovely.

Luckily is sounds like Travis has a vaguely similar schedule so at least he won’t be alone. especially since Kiara and Pope ditched him.

He’s known the two all through law school. They happened to meet the second week of school, being forced into the same group for their Legal Research & Writing class. They like to say forced as it makes it feel like a bit more of a found friendship but to be honest, the second they started planning when to meet for assignments, they fell in like it was nothing. The three of them took as many classes as they could together, studied late into the night and early mornings for just about every exam and huddled over textbooks in the law library writing papers.

He honestly doesnt know if he would’ve survived with even a sliver of positivity if it weren’t for them. And he can confidently say they would feel the same.

Hopefully.

When the clock on his monitor approaches his 10 am meeting, Travis somehow slipping away already. John B was kind of hoping they’d at least stick together on the first day. He rises, shoots Kiara and Pope a hopeful look to which they both jokingly respond with a cut throat and grimace respectively.

Great friends.

Weaving through the office is definitely going to take a bit of time that’s for sure. He passes people who are too busy to pay him any mind. Efforts he hopes to contibute to soon enough.

But as he rounds the corner, he stops in his tracks.

A woman, a vision in a pencil skirt and cream camisole, her honey-blonde hair in waves down her back and the most amazing smile he thinks he’s ever seen stands with another woman a little older. He pays no mind to that woman, eyes only seemingly able to stare at the younger.

She nods to something the lady says, smiles, then just as hes passing by her, still only trained on her beauty and that smile, she turns right in his path.

Her booklet and pen go flying along with a folder filled with various new articles scatter the floor.

“I’m so sorry.”

The blonde smiles, a short laugh in her breath, “it’s okay, really.”

He manages to gather the papers he helped scatter and hands them over. She takes them with a smile. He assists her up by the elbow gently until they’re both back upright and stable.

“You should be careful though. You could really cause some damage.” Her tone is light and airy.

“You new?” She asks as if she couldn’t already tell.

“Yeah.”

“Expertise?”

“Criminal defense.”

“Wow, so you’re looking to be in the big leagues?”

“Maybe.” He admits confidently, “hopefully.”

She holds out a hand to which he shakes enthusiastically.

“Sarah.”

“John B.” He responds. She smiles.

“Well John B. Welcome to Cameron, Groff, Robinson & Associates. Hope you’ve found it exciting so far.”

“Very.” She’s definitely a reason for that. “You’re a.. uh… associate too?”

“Public Relations,” she responds.

“Ah. Right. That."

Public Relations. Which meant her entire job was bridging communication gaps, handling the press, and being charming as hell to witnesses and outside counsel. She certainly had the charm part down.

“I better go—“

“Yeah. Same.” He smiles. Fuck he’s being a wimp.

She smiles still and brushes past him to go. But to be honest he doesn’t want her to. At least not yet.

He turns quickly, “Do you happen to know where the,” he checks his phone quickly, “Hive room is?”

Sarah, ever the angelic woman she seems to be, laughs lightly at him. Fuck, talk about giving off newbie vibes and fucking embarrassing himself completely.

“No one gave you the map did they?”

“There’s a map?”

“No.” She laughs. “Around the corner,” she points behind him, “past the desks, fourth room on your left. If you hit the bathrooms you’ve gone too far.

“Noted,” he smiles gratefully, flushing a slight red, “thanks.”

“Have a good first day newbie.” She smiles before continuing on her way… away from him.

Fuck him.

He quickly rounds the corner, passes the desks, and counts the rooms until he reaches the Hive. Through the glass, he can see it's already packed and Ward Cameron is already speaking. He's late. Fuck.

He enters as unobtrusively as he can. Sadly, his entrance doesn’t go completely unnoticed, but luckily, everyone quickly returns to listening to their boss.

He finds a spot near the back, no sitting room available, to stand next to Travis who barely casts him a glance.

“We’ve got a lot of great cases going on this week and quite a few new teammates joining the firm. Let’s include them in our work and use their fresh minds.”

There are murmurs of agreement but nothing solid.

“Now,” Ward continues, “Let’s get on with updates.”

The hour and a half goes by quicker than John B expected. Learning the ropes to their morning debrief that apparently happens every Monday to start the week out fresh. Ward seems to explain a little more for the benefit of him and Travis which he’s grateful for. The rest of the attendees though seem over it. Specifically, Rafe Cameron who sits up front, casually leaned back in his chair with an air of superiority.

Professors can truly only teach you so much. And internships are great, John B had a great one at a smaller New York firm throughout his last two years of law school. But when one of his professors, his favorite, clued him in on a old friend of his who owned one of the most prestigious law firms in the City, John B couldn’t not try for it.

And somehow they liked him and his work enough to take him on.

Now hes here and he knows it’s time to prove himself.

——————————

But the crown jewel, so to speak, is the collection of emerald necklaces on special display in three separate freestanding glass cases set up right in the back-center of the hall. Various eyes and faces peer down at them, muttering curiosities in their native tongues.

Maybe they were discussing rumors of a brazen young group of teenagers who, just the night before, had attempted to steal all three necklaces in the dead of night. They had been caught by a tripwire installed in the tunnels under the palace. Mr. Khan had been smiling widely this morning, taking maybe a little too much glee in one crew already being down. As punishment for getting caught, they were put straight on a train back to Crookhaven first thing this morning. Tough luck, but it only made Gabriel more aware of how careful they needed to be if they wanted to win.

Gabriel rounds on the exhibit, peering down at the first of the three, watching how it hits the light, sparkling whether from the fixtures overhead or the afternoon sun filtering through the high windows. It looks virtually identical to the second one next to it, and then again to the third. They all look practically the same, so much so that it annoys him.

Why they don’t have a placard displaying exactly which are the fakes and which is real is probably the doing of the Crooked Network to ensure fairness in the final assessment.

But as Gabriel’s gaze lingers on the second and third cases, a familiar, grating friction sparks in his chest. There is a rigid, sterile uniformity to the way the light fractures through the stones. It’s the same hollow feeling he gets when looking at a masterfully forged painting, technically flawless, but entirely soulless. His gut screams that two and three are dead imitations.

Amira’s voice brings him back from his thoughts, “I think it’s this one.”

“How?” he questions the Crook that slides up next to him.

“The symmetry?” Amira murmurs, leaning closer to the glass. “The weight of the setting on the third one hangs just a fraction of a millimeter lower. Looks heavier. More authentic.”

“No, it’s definitely the second one,” Ade chimes in, popping up on Gabriel's other side and squinting through the display case. “Look at the saturation on those center stones. The hue is perfectly even, while the other two have minor structural inconsistencies. They've gotta be the replicas.”

Gabriel just shakes his head, his eyes settling firmly back on the first case. To him, the first one was the only one that didn't give him that counterfeit itch. "You guys are looking at it too hard," he murmurs, his eyes bouncing between the glittering traps. "Two and three... they look too perfect.”

A sudden surge in the gallery crowd, a massive tour group speaking rapid Turkish, shoves forward, bottlenecking the space around the display. Someone thick-shouldered bumps hard into Gabriel's back. To keep his balance and avoid slamming into the display case, Gabriel instinctively steps sideways, his hand reaching out to steady himself. His fingers wrap firmly around a soft forearm, pulling them both out of the crush of the crowd.

It’s Penelope.

She doesn't pull away. Instead, she utilizes his grip to anchor herself, her side pressing flush against his chest as the tourists hustle past them. The proximity is sudden and warm, her floral scent instantly cutting through the musty museum air. Gabriel’s hand lingers on her arm a beat too long, his thumb brushing the soft fabric of her sleeve before he reluctantly lets go.

Penelope doesn’t look at him, but the corner of her mouth ticks up as she looks at the glass cubes. “You’re all wrong,” she says softly, her voice carrying that effortless, quiet authority. She cuts a sly glance at Gabriel. "Well, mostly all wrong. It’s the first one."

See, he thought he was onto something.

Gabriel clears his throat, a small smirk breaking through his composure. “And why's that, Lockett? Looks exactly like the others.”

“Because it isn't perfect,” Penelope explains, leaning in. “Look closely at the center emerald. See those tiny, web-like fractures deep inside the green?”

Gabriel squints, shifting closer to her shoulder until he can see the microscopic, faint lines catching the light. “Yeah. Looks like a flaw.”

“It’s called jardin,” Penelope murmurs, her eyes bright with the thrill of the knowledge. “It’s French for garden. Natural emeralds are incredibly volatile when they form, so they always have these unique, chaotic internal flaws.” She takes a steadying breath. “When Mr. Palombo created a replica last fall, he used synthetic emeralds. You can mimic chemical structures and even engineer fake flaws, but a machine can never perfectly replicate the absolute chaos of nature. The emeralds in the second and third necklaces are visually stunning, but their internal lines are still too clean. Too deliberate.”

She straightens back up, cutting her eyes to Gabriel. “You’re right. The first one is the real necklace. Trust me.”

Gabriel stares at the necklace, then back at her, an amused grin finally breaking across his own face. “Good thing we brought an expert.”

“Yeah, your whole heist would crash and burn without me,” she teases back, her eyes dancing.

“Let’s keep on track with what we’re here for,” Amira vocalizes a bit too loudly, her eyes pointed at him. He waves off the underlying meaning, shifting slightly away from Penelope to create some professional distance.

They all move, walking back through the hall and over to Ede, Jia, and Villette, who currently huddle together discussing something of importance.

“Hey,” Ade mutters, leaning into his brother's shoulder.

“The security system they installed for the weekend is definitely Crook-funded,” Ede whispers, his thumbs flying across his phone screen. “The firewalls are insane. Whisper definitely helped build this.”

“Can we hijack the feed?” Ade asks. Gabriel steps in close to block the view from the rest of the room.

“No,” Ede says flatly. “The main camera loop is completely air-gapped. No wireless access points, no external IPs. If we tried to send a fake loop remotely, I just hit an encrypted wall. It’s totally locked down.”

Amira frowns. “So we can't wirelessly hack it at all?”

“At least not from here,” Ede states, Ade nodding in agreement.

Ade admits, looking a bit more worried than usual. “If we want to loop the cameras so you guys can actually touch the cases, we need to inject the dummy feed directly into the local system. If we can't find some sloppy backdoor, we're basically flying blind.”

“Great, so the cameras aren’t even a given,” Amira whispers sharply. “Even if we fix the feed, we can’t just pull off a smash-and-grab in the middle of a black-tie gala. There are too many people.”

Ade’s eyes light up. “I can hack the ballroom sound system. Change up the music—”

“Right, because that will make everyone look away from the million-pound necklace and ignore us stealing it,” Jia cuts in lowly, rolling her eyes.

“Got a better idea?” Ade counters.

Gabriel glances over, but Villette isn't even engaged in the argument. She’s just staring blankly up at the ceiling across the hall, her head tilted up.

Ede notices her silence first. He follows her unblinking gaze up into the plaster crown molding, squinting until his eyes lock onto something in the distance. Gabriel follows it to spot a sleek, hidden lens tucked right into the crown molding between two columns. The black cord is barely visible, hidden behind a plastic seam.

Ede’s brow goes up. “Well, look at that.”

“What am I looking at?” Ade asks, squinting up too.

“Exactly what we need,” Villette says. For Gabriel, the pieces click together as he catches on.

“A Projector?” Ade responds, “What does the Crooked Network need a projector for?”

“There was one in the ballroom and one outside in the Gardens,” Villette says. “I thought it weird the first one, and then the second, but now a third.”

“Good eye.” Jia stares at Villette with curious trepidation.

Amira scoffs, “Crooked Network planning on projecting a slideshow or someth—”

“Exactly.” Penelope pipes up, eyes flickering rapidly as she stares off just past Ede’s legs.

“Speak, Lockett.” Jia prompts with sudden anticipation.

Penelope swallows before her gaze meets the rest of them: “When I was in my dad’s office returning the invitation, there were these papers—plans—that I didn’t think much of. But they mentioned the Crooked Network's past successes and a couple of famous Crooks. How much would you bet that is exactly what they are gonna do? Project all of their greatest successes for all of them to relish in throughout the night.”

“Giving us a perfect opportunity to distract them for a minute or two if we take over the feed.” Amira finishes Penelope’s thought. Finishes Gabriel’s own idea.

“We make it our own for a few.” Gabriel smirks, “We create something flashy enough to grab their attention.”

Ade supplies, shoulders falling, “But we have to get in first—”

“And we currently have nothing.” Ede finishes with disappointment.

The heavy weight of the dead end settles over the group, the grand, golden air of the Palazzo Colonna suddenly feeling a lot more claustrophobic.

“We aren't going to solve it standing under the security cameras and surrounded by strangers,” Penelope states quietly, her voice dropping as she steps in line beside Gabriel. Her elbow brushes his jacket pocket, where his fingers absentmindedly rub the coin that somehow found its way back to his person. “Let’s head back to the hotel. We have all night to look into this and other possible options.”

Gabriel glances back toward the first glass cube, the necklace glittering mockingly beneath the gallery lights while the rest of them start back towards the exit.

“Well, well, well,” a goading voice sounds from behind. “Knew we’d run into each other again. Trying to spy on us?”

“Perfect,” Jia comments, an annoyed, quirked brow growing on her face. Both she and Gabriel turn, though Gabriel keeps his facial expression completely indifferent. Passive. Unamused.

“I think they’re taking a page out of our book, Edgar,” Dorian replies like the perfect little side lackey he is. Both legacies carry that heavy air of superiority they believe they hold over everyone else. It is entirely grating on the nerves.

“Learning what not to do,” Gabriel replies easily. He crosses his arms over his chest, standing at his full height as he turns a flat, unbothered gaze down at Edgar.

The physical shift is slight, but it forces Edgar to lift his chin just a fraction higher to maintain eye contact. The legacy's posture instantly stiffens, a familiar, subtle crack appearing in that polished, upper-class confidence the moment Edgar realizes he has to look up.

“We get a private tour of the palace later today,” Edgar boasts, trying to regain his footing. “Great time for reconnaissance, don’t you think, Dorian?”

“Very smart, Edgar.”

Penelope crosses her arms over her chest, stepping back toward them. “Your father got you a private tour and bought your way into the Gala. I wonder who’s going to want a conniving, unoriginal Legacy under their organization in the future? The Criminal Network would see you coming from a mile away, Edgar. The classic Delacombe way, right?”

The crew chuckles, collectively deciding it's the perfect moment to turn away, leaving the two legacies standing there, visibly unhappy with how the interaction turned out.

Gabriel laughs under his breath as they walk. Penelope turns back to smirk at him before brushing past Edgar, checking him with her shoulder as she leaves. Gosh, it is nice to have Penelope Lockett with him instead of against him.

Edgar blinks in surprise for a moment, then smiles back coldly as Gabriel passes him. “This delusion you have, thinking you and one of the most famous legacies at Crookhaven would ever actually work out…” Edgar smiles wider as Dorian chuckles lowly. “It’s kinda sweet, honestly.”

Gabriel’s mood turns sour, turning on the guy. “Shut it, Delacombe.”

Edgar raises his hands in mock defense, his mouth curling into a self-satisfied line. He and Dorian tease him silently as they back away. Gabriel’s fist curls tight at his side, his jaw locked.

Maybe they’re right.

~~~~~~~~~~

“The glass displays are just like the one Miss Jericho had us steal from earlier this year.” Jia yawns, her back perched against the foot of Penelope's bed later that night. “You touch the glass, you’re caught. So you have to lift from the top corners carefully, shimmy it out of its base, and pluck the necklace without tripping the alarm. Then place it back in all before anyone meandering around can notice, including the security teams and the cameras trained on the display.”

“Sounds difficult,” Amira states, leaning back into the pillows of Penelope’s chaise, yawning herself. The soft wind blowing in through the open balcony door lifts the hairs around Amira’s face gently. “But we’re crooks, so it’s not difficult enough.”

“Your confidence in us is refreshing, Amira.” Gabriel jests. He is himself lounging back on Penelope’s hotel bed, his head nestled comfortably in an extra pillow.

“Where the hell did everyone go?” Amira asks, glancing over at Villette, who is sound asleep, curled up in a ball, tightly wrapped in a stack of pillows and a blanket in the corner right under the balcony window. Amira quirks a brow, and she and Gabriel share a soft smile. Villette can be an interesting person—sometimes weirdly happy and meek, and other times incredibly intense and direct. But even while sleeping, she still looks like the harmless Nikki who first arrived at Crookhaven.

Gabriel shrugs, murmuring as Jia’s quiet snores start to fill the space. “Would’ve thought Penelope would be back by now.”

Penelope had departed to get some late-night snacks and a few waters after their meeting. Ade and Ede left shortly after declaring the space and all of them too distracting as they typed away on their laptops trying to find any vulnerabilities they could exploit night of. That left the rest of them, him and the remaining girls, to their own devices in Penelope’s hotel room.

The fact that Penelope was awarded her own room and didn’t have to share was a luxury Gabriel couldn't deny he was a little jealous of. Edgar might get special treatment because of his father and use it to flaunt the doors he can have opened for him, but Penelope isn’t far off. She just doesn’t necessarily broadcast it to the world.

Amira shrugs back silently before leaning further into the chaise and closing her eyes. “Wake me up when Tweedledee and Tweedledum come to a revelation. Or when Lockett gets back with my food.”

He glares playfully toward his friend before she drifts off. He doesn’t know how long he stares at the ceiling, opting not to move, as his spot is warm and he, too, could easily nod off. He’s unsure why he doesn’t—not until he hears the distinct click of the door lock and a soft "oh" from the entryway.

His eyes widen and his head tips up. Penelope is gently setting down her armful of snacks and drinks on the small footrest next to the bathroom door. She makes eye contact with him, raising a brow and gesturing to the three bodies strewn about her hotel room. He just shrugs again silently, watching as she processes the situation, then softly steps over Jia to get to the other side of the bed.

“I was only gone for like five minutes,” she murmurs, gently climbing onto the mattress next to him and resting her upper back against the headboard above his head.

“More like fifteen,” he counters with furrowed brows. Satisfied that he got his point across, he closes his eyes and rests back into the pillow, his hands locked comfortably over his stomach. This bed feels significantly better than the one in his room.

“I was trying to find Villette some orange chocolate. The front desk said a little shop at the end of the street had it, and I managed to get in and out right before they closed.” After a beat of two of silence. “She’s out.”

He chances a glance for a brief moment as she brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, her gaze trained on Villette’s docile sleeping form on the floor. He closes his eyes back up.

“They all are.”

“And you?”

Gabriel’s eyes shoot open, staring up at Penelope. “You walked in. Ruined my peace.”

“I gallantly went out to find you food.” Penelope rolls her eyes softly.

Right then, down at the foot of the bed, Jia lets out a tiny, high-pitched, pathetic little whistle of a snore. It’s so soft and completely unbothered, but in the relative quiet of the room, it sounds entirely ridiculous.

Gabriel’s chest tightens as a sudden laugh hits him out of nowhere. He tries to lock it down, but next to him, Penelope buries her face into her hand, her shoulders violently shaking as she tries to muffle a wheeze. The struggle to stay quiet completely breaks them.

When he gets a hold of himself and opens his eyes, she’s close. Like… really close.

Still totally unaware of it, she has leaned so far over that her hair curtains his right side, dark strands brushing against his shoulder and the pillow beside his head. Her face is maybe a foot from his, her lips pressed tight in laughter, her cheeks flushed pink from trying not to wake the others.

She smells like clean citrus and florals, the same as the elevator, only a few days prior. Gabriel suddenly forgets what was funny. Actually, he forgets most things.

Because if he just lifted a little, just the tiniest bit, he could close the space. He could. It would be so easy; it’s almost unfair.

His heartbeat turns heavy, thudding right up into his throat. Penelope makes him feel on edge in a way nothing else does. Not Deception tasks. Not breaking into the locked record rooms. Not even his parents and their awful threats. It’s been like that for the past two years, always tiptoeing around something neither of them ever says out loud. He kinda doesn’twant to tiptoe anymore.

So he lets his intrusive thought win. Gabriel reaches up slowly and tucks the piece of hair falling down the side of her face behind her ear.

Penelope freezes. Her hand falls from where it had been hiding her eyes. Her smile fades, not all at once, but slowly, like she’s only just realized where she is. How close they are. How his fingers are still lingering near her jaw, barely brushing the space beneath her ear.

It’d be the right thing to do to retract his hand. He doesn’t.

Penelope blinks rapidly, her brown eyes floating across his face, flicking down once toward his mouth before scrunching up in a silent question. She still doesn't pull away.

Gabriel’s stomach drops in the best and worst ways.

He shifts a little on his back, barely anything, but it makes the mattress dip under them. Penelope readjusts on her elbow at the same time, and somehow that makes the already pathetic space between them vanish almost completely.

Her breath catches. Or maybe his does. It’s like every sense of his is suddenly heightened. Heated.

Penelope whispers, “Gabriel.”

His name breezes over his mouth, and his eyes flick down to her lips again. And yet, still, she doesn’t pull away.

“Penelope,” he says, barely loud enough to count as a voice. He’s so close.

Her fingers tighten in the bedding beside his forearm. He just about angles up, pressing forward to relinquish the inch or two of space between them—

“Guys!”

Gabriel jumps in tandem with Penelope, his head pressing back into the pillow so hard he wants to be swallowed by the bed if he could. Penelope leaps off the bed completely, immediately fixing her hair behind her shoulder and pulling her jumper further down her arms. Trying to ignore the fact, just like him, that they were about one second away from making everything significantly more complicated.

Gabriel sits up more slowly, trying his best to look normal.

Ade comes rushing around the corner from the door, a look of pure joy on his face. Ede follows close behind, carrying his laptop, concentrating so hard on the screen that he runs right into his brother’s back.

“Bro.”

“Sorry.” Ede pushes his glasses up before focusing back down at the screen.

“Hey Ade. Ede.” Gabriel’s voice cracks just enough that he wants to fling himself through the nearest wall. “I thought you two were going heads down?”

“We were but—”

“Hush,” Amira calls from her corner, shifting onto her other side, still heavily dazed. Villette sits up from her perch on the floor, rubbing her eyes while Jia remains leaning back against the end of the bed.

“Amira,” Ede calls out timidly, “you’re gonna wanna hear this.”

Amira groans, murmurs expletives under her breath before maneuvering into a seated position, her head resting in her hands against her knees. “Be quick, please.”

“You remember how we noted the security system at the Gala is using the highest level of encryption,” Ade continues,“and is basically unhackable?”

“Yeah?” Jia murmurs.

“You hacked it?” Gabriel asks, his eyes widening in anticipation. He is grateful for literally anything else to focus on other than Penelope standing three feet away, pretending she hadn't just been breathing against his mouth.

“No freaking way?” Amira suddenly jolts up, pushing herself to the end of the lounger, her eyes clearing of sleep.

“Yeah,” Ede announces, turning his computer around for them to see. “We managed to jump server to server kinda at random until we noticed a pattern. The core surveillance grid is air-gapped, yes. But the palace itself isn't a dead zone. To preserve those centuries-old paintings, the gallery relies on an automated climate control system to regulate the humidity and temperature.”

Gabriel speaks up, “Okay. And how does a thermostat help us into the system?”

“Because it’s a shared infrastructure,” Ade explains, turning the screen so everyone can see a complex network map.“They couldn't drill new holes in the ancient marble walls to run independent cables for the temporary security setup, so they utilized the existing data conduits. The Crooked Network's security line and the palace's climate control network run through the same physical routing switches.”

Ede points to a specific intersection on the digital map. “Right here. Every hour, the climate system sends an automated status report to the main palace server room. For a split second during that handshake, the secure network opens a tiny logical gateway to let the data pass through. It’s a standard network bridge.”

“A bridge we can hop,” Ade says, a sharp, confident smirk finally returning to his face. “During the gala tomorrow night, we don't try to hack the secure video feed directly. We log into the palace’s basic environmental network—which has incredibly weak encryption. We ride the automated climate report right through that logical gateway, hop the bridge into the media server, and inject our video directly from there.”

Ede leans back in his chair, folding his arms with a satisfied grin. “The system won't even flag it as an intrusion. To the main security hub, our video distraction will just look like a standard, automated data packet from the gallery's humidity sensors.”

“This is freaking awesome.” Amira smiles, shaking Ede excitedly from behind. The elder twin smiles sheepishly, while Ade looks entirely ready for the praise and attention.

“Can you also loop the camera feed while we steal the necklace?” Penelope asks, finding her voice.

“Yep. With the intrusion, we’ll also get access to the cameras,” Ade states, turning to Jia and Gabriel. “Which means when the distraction video starts, you’ll need to wait for at least ten to fifteen seconds for us to lock down a clean looping feed, and then another ten to fifteen for us to switch the main feed over to our doctored one.”

Ede adds, “That’ll ensure that those who crowd around to watch the video are seen in the exact spots you would expect them to be if you were watching the live feed.”

“Do we even have a video yet?” Jia questions.

“We’ve got a few ideas,” Ede says with a smirk.

The air in the room is electric with hope. Villette suddenly hugs Ede tight, making the guy blush furiously.

“Good job, guys—” Gabriel starts.

“Brothers Crim,” Ade interjects.

Gabriel chuckles, “Great job, Brothers Crim.”

They have a solid plan. That’s all that matters.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gabriel tugs the cuffs of his tuxedo down a little farther on his wrists, maybe fidgeting more than he should, but tonight’s the night. Everything they’ve planned needs to go off without a hitch. They need that prize money.

Another two crews already got caught on the day of—one trying to rather smartly blend in with the catering crew and another attempting to stay after the gallery closed this afternoon, only to be found by an unannounced sweep of the premises.

Just as Gabriel finishes brushing away a tiny piece of lint that somehow found its way onto his lapel, the lift doors across the lobby slide open.

Ade whistles beside him, elbowing him in the side.

Amira, Jia, and Villette step out one after another, a striking gradient of crimson, black, and deep midnight-blue fabric draping around them. Amira’s red dress is sleek and fitted, featuring a high slit in the skirt flashing a sharp, heeled boot with every confident stride, crimnastics-approved and ready for scaling walls if necessary. Jia wears a tailored black gown, her face partially hidden by a delicate, laser-cut black metal mask she found in a shop around the corner. Beside them, Villette glides forward in flowing midnight-blue chiffon, her face obscured by an ornate silver-and-blue mask, her boots completely hidden beneath the dark fabric.

But Penelope is all Gabriel can see.

Emerald-green silk falls to the floor, with off-the-shoulder straps that drape delicately down her arms. Dark brown curls spill down her back, a few pieces pinned away while the rest frame the parts of her face he can see beneath her mask. The mask itself is a stunning, delicate black-and-emerald lace, and it only makes her look more distracting. As she walks forward, the hem of her emerald gown lifts just enough to catch a quick glimpse of a sleek, lace-up heeled boot peeking out from the silk.

He’s in trouble.

How the hell is he supposed to focus on stealing the necklace if he can’t take his eyes off Penelope Lockett for longer than a second?

Standing next to them in his plain black tuxedo and simple, matte black and gold mask, he feels entirely out of place. Plain. Basic. How did he ever think he was worthy of standing next to Penelope in all her radiance? Edgar’s right… he’s delusional.

“Boys,” Amira greets as they reach them.

“You girls clean up real nice,” Ade comments, rubbing his hands together.

Ede adds, “You all look beautiful.” His eyes linger a little longer on Villette.

“Gabriel?”

Gabriel shakes himself out of his stupor, focusing on Amira and her raised brow. It’s then that he realizes he was staring at Penelope that whole time. Shit.

“Yep. Yeah.” He stumbles over his words, clearing his throat. “You all look really, really great.”

“Uh-huh,” Amira responds with a knowing look.

Gabriel’s face hardens. Internally, he’s trying to calm his erratic nerves, but externally, he forces an air of indifference that he hopes stops any teasing from his crew in its tracks.

“We need to get across town, so we’d better go now.”

His crew nods in acknowledgment and exits the hotel, heading to where two rideshare cars that Ede procured are waiting to take them near the palace. He gets into the zone as he squeezes into the backseat of one with Jia and Ade.

This heist needs to go exactly to plan.

It’s time.

~~~~~~~~~~

The front is littered with guests and tourists alike. Those not in attendance stop in the street, gawking at the crowd dressed to the nines, their faces covered in intricate masks and elaborate colors. From the road, the small staircase leading up to the Portale e scalinata di Villa Colonna is lined with soft lights, while grand banners hang from the buildings that frame the narrow stone steps.

Ade and Villette hand out the invitations to each of them. The intricate forgeries fit in perfectly with those held by the other patrons as they slowly approach the gates. Just as Gabriel told Penelope after he and the guys got back from their longer-than-anticipated hunt for the best pomodorini pizza Rome had to offer, her work is practically flawless. Neither he nor the twins could tell theirs apart from Caspian Lockett’s original.

He glances across the group at Penelope at the thought.

She stares up the path, eyeing the steps just as Villette sighs and starts forward, hiking her dress up a little to step carefully in her thick heeled boots. The rest start to follow, and Gabriel watches silently as Penelope prepares to do the same.

He steps in, proffering his arm and halting her momentum. Her eyes snap to his, and he nods toward his forearm.

After a moment’s hesitation, she slowly wraps her hand around his arm. He tightens his bicep to his side, anchoring her close. Picking up the other side of her emerald gown, she starts up the steps with him.

“Thank you.”

Gabriel scoffs playfully, “Don’t mention it.”

“Can I be honest?”

Gabriel glances down, a trace of concern touching his voice. “When are you not?”

When they stop on the steps, she lightly slaps his shoulder with her other hand, her invitation almost crinkling at the motion. Gabriel nimbly plucks the card from her fingers for safekeeping, choosing to ignore her playful swat. A small smile settles on his face anyway.

“I’m kinda nervous.”

“Penelope Lockett, nervous?” Gabriel jests softly. Ahead of them, Villette turns to glance over her shoulder, a look Gabriel finds a bit unsettling, before she quickly goes back to ascending the staircase with Ade at her side.

“I’m pretty sure I messed up the date on one of the invites,” Penelope whispers. “If they spot that, it all goes to shit—”

Gabriel playfully chastises her, “Language.”

“Oh, shut it, Avery.”

“I looked at every single invitation,” Gabriel assures her, his voice dropping lower. “You forged them flawlessly. Mr. Palombo would praise you for your work, and the rest of us would just look on in envy, annoyed as hell at how talented you are.”

Penelope does that thing again. She stares at him, glances briefly toward his mouth, and then looks right back up into his eyes. Like she’s contemplating… something. He doesn't even want to fully acknowledge it. Acknowledging it makes it real, and he is entirely unsure what he’d do if it were. What he wouldn’t stop himself from doing if so.

Gabriel forces himself to look away, training his eyes back on their crew ahead of them. Ensuring everyone gets through the front gate is a much safer distraction.

He can admit he holds his breath as Amira hands over her invite. The security guard examines it, checking the cardstock with narrowed eyes. The man looks Amira up and down, then lingers on the paper, his thumb tapping lightly against the crisp edge of the card.

Gabriel's mind races, immediately calculating alternative ways to infiltrate the gala if the man turns them away. But the rejection never comes. The guard nods, gesturing Amira through, before taking Jia’s invitation and doing the same.

Maybe it’s just a habit of the job to scrutinize everyone. Maybe the intense stares are just meant to scare away the people who shouldn’t be there… people exactly like them. It definitely makes Gabriel think twice. But one by one, the crew passes through, until it’s only him and Penelope.

They’re in. They can do this.

~~~~~~~~~~

The garden inside is littered with guests decked in gowns, dark colors that breed an air of sophistication. Various masks of delicate and intricate design are either tied behind people's heads or perched on classic long handles, allowing guests to hide and unhide whenever they want. Gabriel’s masks his anticipation of being this close to some of the greatest Crooks of their time.

If only he could actually attend this event as an honest guest and get to pick their brains. Maybe even boast about his own adventures at Crookhaven.

Gabriel glances down at Penelope, sharing an amused grin as if she feels the same way. This is where they belong in the future… like two separate people, of course, not a couple or anything. Just two talented Crooks belonging to the same network. That’s all.

Gabriel’s arm suddenly tugs back, Penelope’s hand gripping tight at his bicep as she stops them both in their pursuit toward the ballroom and the gallery. He glances back as she stares somewhere off in the distance, her eyes squinting behind her mask.

“What’s wrong?”

She tugs him quickly off the main path, behind a large patch of shrubbery, stepping out of the main fairway of people milling to and fro. He waits for her to answer him. She peeks back around the shrub discreetly, pressing a hand into his stomach to keep him back.

“Pen,” he edges out slowly, getting unnerved by her sudden change in demeanor.

“My father.”

It’s enough to make him peek around her and the shrub, following her line of sight. It takes him a second or two longer to focus on the right person in the crowd at the top of the stone ramp toward the famous Palazzo Colonna garden stairs. Caspian Lockett, maskless, stands arm in arm with a woman in deep gold as they both nurse champagne flutes with three unknown companions. The man stands with complete confidence, no doubt using his natural charm to his advantage.

“Who’s that with him?” He clocks the woman’s simple, easy smile. The rest of her face is hidden by an intricate black mask perched on the end of an expensive-looking rod. He glances back at Penelope to gauge her reaction, hoping it’s not what he thinks.

When she gives him nothing, he looks back just as the woman lowers her mask. Penelope gasps softly.

“Mum.” Penelope’s brows relax, her mouth falling open in gentle astonishment. “She’s here,” she says breathily.

It's like she never imagined she’d see her mother in a public setting again. That’s what happens when you become enemy number one to the Nameless and have to hide away to protect your husband and daughter. But apparently, this gala is safe enough for her to come out of the woodwork.

Gabriel’s always seen photos of Carmen. How could he not, when one of his closest friends is her daughter and the woman just so happens to be one of the greatest Crooks of this age? But seeing her for the first time in person, albeit from far away, feels like he’s finally getting to see another little part of his partner in crime. It’s intimate, in a sense.

Penelope’s eyes shine with wanting nothing more than to bolt over. Gabriel, reluctantly, to be completely honest, grasps at her wrist lightly, keeping her steady where she is.

Penelope breathes in deeply, her eyes still trained around the shrubbery but luckily staying put. “I fear if we get close to them, they’ll know it's me. I’m not exactly gonna be able to keep my cool if my mum chances a glance my way.”

Penelope focuses back up to him, eyes soft and sad. She doesn’t get much time with her mum right now. A rare video call from thousands of miles away. A phone call or letter when her mother gets a free chance without the possibility of getting caught. Gabriel once found her with tear-streaked cheeks on the roof of the Tower. Penelope’s mother had only a two-minute window to call her on her birthday. Gabriel’s blazer was dotted with her tears not long after he found her.

He knows how hard this is for her. If it were his gran, he’d honestly feel the same, and he at least gets to visit her now and again when Crookhaven allows for breaks.

Gabriel presses in closer to Penelope on instinct, though what instinct exactly, he isn't sure he wants to admit to himself, and taps the translucent earpiece in his right ear.

“Amira,” he says, “you see any other way down to the ballroom other than the stairs?”

Her voice comes in quickly over the channel. “No. It’s the only manner to get down that isn’t otherwise locked off—”

Jia chimes in, “I could always lockpick one of those other routes if you chose it to be the safer option, but I gotta say, the stairs aren’t like… bad.”

“What’s going on?” Amira adds with sudden concern.

Gabriel swallows, staring down at Penelope. “Mr. and Mrs. Lockett are at the top, near the ramp that goes down to the stairs.”

“Oh, crud,” Ade’s voice pops in. “Do we need to circle back?”

“Where are you?” Gabriel volleys back.

“Look to your right,” Villette answers.

Gabriel and Penelope glance in the direction in question. Villette’s blonde chignon, Ede’s yellow carnation boutonnière, and Ade’s minuscule nod let both crooks zero in on their crewmates.

“Be careful going towards the stairs,” Gabriel murmurs.

The three crewmates discreetly track the Headmaster's position, giving his line of sight a wide berth.

“Ade and I will go separately,” Ede suggests over the feed. “Less likely they’ll clock us if we aren’t together.”

“Great idea.” Amira comes back through. “I think Jia and I managed to get by before they got there. We’re already down in the ballroom.”

“We’ll be down there shortly,” Penelope chimes in. “What’s it looking like down there?”

“Mingling. Dancing. Food,” Jia calls out. “I’m pretty sure I brushed past Lulu and Dorian a moment ago. Neither seems to have noticed me… I hope.”

“Edgar?” Gabriel can’t help but ask. If Dorian’s already down there, Edgar no doubt has to be too.

“Pretty sure that’s him talking to his father.”

“To think,” Ade interjects, “we’re supposed to be under scrutiny, and Edgar Delacombe is schmoozing his way through a Crooked party like it’s nothing.”

“Well, when your father wants you to win it all, you get advantages no one else gets.” Penelope’s tone isn’t quite light and airy, especially as she sends a glare over her shoulder toward her father's distant silhouette.

Gabriel watches Penelope as she still chances glances over her shoulder, around the shrubbery, toward her parents, speaking low into her comm. “We’ll be down in a minute. Be ready to intervene with a distraction in case we catch anyone's attention.”

Amira confirms over the network. Ade and Villette start moving off to the right in the distance, the two playing up the same companionship many of the guests are displaying this evening. Gabriel can only surmise that Ede looks jealous from afar.

Gabriel tugs lightly on Penelope’s wrist to get her attention back. “Head in the game.”

Penelope blinks up at him before shaking her head, then nodding. Gabriel guides her hand back to his forearm, leading them out onto the main garden path and weaving around the other guests who have stopped to take in the grounds.

As they near the back end of the garden and Penelope’s parents, they both get a little stiffer. Caspian Lockett is a surveyor, and he now and again swivels around to greet someone passing by or to take in some of the guests' more gauche costumes.

“We go quickly. Heads down, we’re just two guests making their way down to the ballroom,” Gabriel murmurs as he readjusts Penelope’s hand on his arm.

“Sure, should be easy—”

Suddenly, a distant alarm trips on the roof at the opposite end of the gardens. A single spotlight shifts on, and a few security guards rush across the upper garden balcony toward the commotion. Gabriel and Penelope watch as distant figures raise their arms in surrender, the guards quickly taking them into custody.

A handful of the guests around them suddenly clap in amusement, voices bursting forth in a loud murmur alongside a few good-natured chuckles.

“A crew’s been caught,” is what Gabriel manages to catch from a group a few feet away.

Gabriel looks back toward the stairs and notices that Caspian and Carmen, along with their companions, are entirely focused on the commotion in the distant corner. This is their chance.

Penelope is apparently on the same train of thought as she tugs him forward toward the top steps. He catches up just as they start their way down, still keeping their heads low, but Gabriel keeps Caspian and Carmen in his peripherals the entire time until the two adults are completely out of eyesight.

That means the two of them should be in the clear… mostly. There’s still a great vantage point from the top of the stairs looking down at the small courtyard right before the doors open into the grand hall.

But they manage it, slipping into the golden hallway and vanishing into the thick crowd of guests. He lets out a small, silent sigh of relief.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ballroom is dimly lit, a true masterpiece of the Masquerade gala, decorated beautifully with what the palace already has—high ceilings and ornate paintings that somehow make a person feel right back in ancient Italy. Looking up alone can take one's breath away.

Gabriel weaves through a group of guests standing at the edges of the room, looking out over a sea of people twisting and turning around their partners. Faces are hidden behind intricate masks that even Gabriel admits leave him in amazement. It is the best of the best of the Crooked Network, all leaning into the fact that they’re hiding themselves from one another. At least he can breathe in this mask; he still shivers sometimes at the thought of the leopard mask he wore at his first Crookhaven event, where breathing was almost a non-starter.

Gabriel stops just at the edge toward the back of the ballroom, analyzing and compartmentalizing who in the crowd could pose a threat if it comes down to it.

And then he spots him. Edgar Delacombe, laughing with his father and a few other guests on the opposite end, looking every bit like he belongs.

Gabriel locks eyes with Ade and Amira, who pass just behind Edgar and Dorian. Both legacy and merit glare quick daggers at their competition before disappearing among the crowd.

“Find anyone worth caring about yet?”

Gabriel glances down to his right, Penelope having materialized next to him. Her eyes scan the crowd, and the dancers in front of them like she too is on the hunt for threats. Perhaps looking for any other crews who aren't as loud about being noticed as Edgar is.

“Nothing but stuck-up legacies scheming their way into the Crooked Network.”

Penelope sighs, “Yeah. Just be glad when they recruit you; it’ll be because of your worth and talent, and not just because of whom you know.”

Gabriel glances over to her again, his face heating at the far from rare compliment Penelope pays him. Her hand sneaks through his arm, and she tugs.

“Dance with me.”

“Dance?” He questions, though he still lets her tug him onto the floor. “We should be preparing for our,” he murmurs the last words to her softly, “heist involving nicking a seriously delicate emerald necklace from under the watchful gaze of the most talented Crooks in the world.”

Penelope turns to him once she finds the right place. “We are. What’s some dancing to blend in? Who comes into the ballroom if it’s not to participate at least once? Gives us an excuse to look like we belong.”

Gabriel relents at that. She’s not wrong.

He rests his left hand on her waist, the other clasping hers. It’s Penelope who pulls him in closer.

The music swells at the perfect moments, and the strings give way to a more upbeat tune that some people even seem to know the classic steps to. They just sway with the crowd. One lap around the ballroom brings a cheeky bump backward into Edgar when they reach him, to which Penelope glares playfully. Gabriel masks the satisfied smirk on his mouth so as not to be found out, thoroughly enjoying the view of Edgar cursing past Gabriel at an unknown man who is entirely innocent of the assault.

“We’ve only ever danced that one time before,” Penelope suddenly cuts into their quiet escapade.

“Yeah,” he agrees, unsure where this is going. The brief foray in dancing together before he blindly went to save a woman he believed to be innocent and seeking a son. He didn’t quite get to enjoy it as he might now.

“You’re not half bad, to be honest. I’ve danced with worse.”

Gabriel pulls back slightly to meet her gaze better. “Who else have you danced with before?”

“Various uncles, my grandfather,” she pauses and shivers slightly, “Edgar, when we were children.”

“Edgar,” he repeats, the name sour on his tongue. Penelope Lockett and Edgar Delacombe dancing together… it just isn'tright. “What about your grandfather?”

“Brilliant man. Famous Crook. Agile, intelligent, quick on his feet. And yet, not a bone in his body skilled with rhythm, I fear. He’d step on your toes and not even know it.”

“Tragic,” Gabriel chuckles.

Penelope smiles, “You’re talented, Gabriel. Some of this just seems to come naturally to you, and for that, I envy you. But I also know, regardless of where I end up, or Edgar, or Amira, or anyone else, you’ll no doubt be just as sought after by the best of the best.”

Gabriel has never wanted to kiss someone more than he did right then.

“You gotta stop saying things like that, Penelope.”

Penelope’s brows furrow as she stares up at him through her mask, her mouth falling open, lost for her next retort. She breathes in sharply, her eyes cluing into the fact that he noticed her reaction in the first place. His gaze keeps flicking between her eyes and her mouth as they sway more slowly now, as much as he tries to fight it.

Penelope’s hand shifts, moving to curl around the back of his head. The gentle pressure pulls him closer to her as they navigate carefully through the other guests.

“Pen,” he whispers as her nose brushes his, his hands curling tighter around her waist. Then he’s overcome with a sudden feeling of floating, like someone just picked him up right then and there.

Her lips are, in fact, as soft as they’ve looked, much to his satisfaction, and kissing her feels as natural as his ability to pickpocket. They move in sync, both in the rhythm of their dancing and the movement of their mouths, gentle yet reverent. He loses all sense of time, to be honest… right up until his earpiece crackles with a loud groan.

“Oh, my goddd,” Jia’s voice breaks through the feed.

Ade’s voice joins hers, “No freaking way. Get it, Gabester!”

He and Penelope instantly separate, and Gabriel keeps his eyes closed in sheer embarrassment of his friends. Penelope puffs a laugh out across his mouth.

“Are we not currently in the midst of a heist?” Amira comments with distinct disgust. “Was this a part of the plan? Was I not privy to this?”

“Amira,” he warns, turning just enough to glare over his shoulder in the direction his friend should be hiding.

Ede and Villette come through distant, “What’s going on?” and “What now? Speak!” They go ignored.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t aware we were dealing with a distraction of this caliber on this mission as well,” Amira responds dryly.

“Hey,” Ade jumps in, “let the Gabester and Penelops have their moment. It’s been a long time coming.”

Gabriel grunts at that. Penelope’s face blooms pink and red under her mask, her eyes widening at the sudden unwavering attention.

“Can we just get on with the mission?” Villette speaks over the comms.

“Please,” Penelope agrees immediately.

Ede finally speaks, “We’re coming up on go time anyway. Gabriel, Penelope, Jia. You’ve got a window of two minutes to get close to the necklaces.”

“On our go,” Ade supplies, now all business, “we’ll cut the lights and start the video on the opposite end of the gallery.”

“Jia, you ready to lift the glass case?”

“Yeah. I’ve been ready since like a minute ago while you were trying to resuscitate Penelope.”

“Guys,” Penelope admonishes, “focus on the goal. The necklace. The rest of this we can argue about once we’re safely far away.”

Amira calls out, “Eyes and ears check.”

“Distraction check,” Villette speaks.

Jia adds, “Lockpicker check.”

Penelope speaks for Gabriel, “Pickpocket check.”

Gabriel presses his hand to the small of her back and turns, slowly meandering them through a few remaining dancing couples.

“Ade and Ede at your service,” Ade gloats.

Ede murmurs a quick, “Tech check.”

“Great,” Gabriel confirms lastly, “we’ll move into the Gallery in two. Villette, it’s on your call.”

Villette confirms with a distant uh-huh, and Gabriel spots Ade and Jia slipping out of the ballroom. Amira keeps a few people between herself, Gabriel, and Penelope, keeping her eyes peeled to ensure they don’t run into any more unexpected problems.

And just as he thinks that, her voice sounds sharply over his earpiece. “Be on alert. Dorian and Lulu are in the gallery. Edgar and Carrie just slipped out the door with Mr. Delacombe.”

“Watch him closely,” Ade comments. “I don’t trust him at all. Who knows, maybe he’s already stolen it.”

“Don’t say that, doofus,” Jia hisses.

~~~~~~~~~~

The gallery isn’t necessarily sparse, but there are definitely fewer people milling about than in the ballroom or the gardens. Those of them in the gallery stare in awe at the painted ceiling or view the Crooked Network artifacts on display while details of a heist from eleven years ago filter onto the far wall.

A few small clusters stand around, mingling and occasionally gesturing toward the display cases, conversing as if they’retelling grand stories about how all of this came to be. About their greatest adventures. Something Gabriel wishes to be part of one day. If only he could get his parents off his back.

Right now, however, it’s all about the prize. This is the one play they have to get absolutely right.

He locks eyes with Penelope as they both take their positions a few feet back on opposite sides of the display. He does everything in his power to look nonchalant, especially as Jia meanders up to the far end where an old transceiver from past heists sits on display. The master locksmith pretends to examine it with interest. He glances up at the ceiling, feigning awe.

Just as he glances back down moments later, Penelope taps her hand against her waist four times, the signal for Ede and Villette that the three of them are in position. The three of them are ready.

Almost a minute later, the main lights snap out. This is it.

Concerned murmurs and a few startled cries ring out through the sudden darkness. Gabriel's eyes clock the guards at the end of the hall; they immediately go on alert, stepping forth while analyzing their surroundings.

Then, the palace’s projection system flares to life again. Overridden by the twins' internal video feed, the high-powered projectors hidden in the crown molding of the various spaces splash a flashy video stream across the far wall. It’s a chaotic edit that suddenly dives into Crookhaven's grand history of teaching the next generation, complete with sweeping, dramatic music and stylized, flickering edits of Ezekiel Lockett and the Crookhaven grounds. Of students laughing in that canned, eerie promotional video sort of way.

Gabriel swears he hears Caspian Lockett’s undertone in the computer-generated voiceover. He locks eyes with Penelope, who rolls her eyes at him, much to his amusement. The poor girl can’t go anywhere without her father somehow being present either physically or in spirit.

Every eye in the gallery turns to the unexpected broadcast. Drawn in by the sudden appearance of a video and entirely confused by its ultimate purpose, the crowd near the center display starts to meander toward the far wall to ingest the spectacle.

And lucky for them, the confusion is loud enough that no one notices the three of them moving in on the real necklace.

Amira’s voice crackles through the comms: “What the hell is this?”

Ade’s voice answers, as if blatantly obvious, “That’s the point.” An amused tone in their friend's voice. Gabriel lets out a huff of a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

He focuses back on the task at hand as Jia moves with terrifying precision, her hands finding the base of the heavy glass casing in the relative darkness. Her fingers slide delicately along the edges, perfectly avoiding the grid of alarms that protect the glass panes.

Penelope positions herself in front of the case to shield them from the potential of wandering eyes. Then Jia gives the signal, a single nod. With a slow, perfectly steady breath, she lifts the heavy glass straight up, shimmying it out of its tracks just a fraction of an inch at a time so that the sudden change doesn't trigger any of the sensors.

She raises it just high enough for Gabriel's hand to slip into the gap.

His fingers hover over the velvet base for a split second before making contact, delicately pinching the silver setting of the emerald necklace. He lifts it, avoiding any grazing of the fabric, counting the seconds in his head. His heart thuds against his ribs as he glides his hand back out of the enclosure, immediately dropping the glittering weight deep into his tuxedo pocket.

Gabriel keeps his hand hovering near the base just in case Jia needs him to help stabilize the heavy frame, but her execution is flawless. Her hands are completely steady. Quick. Deliberate.

In the blink of an eye, she lowers the glass casing back into its felt-lined tracks, ensuring a perfect seal, and slowly backs her hands away.

Gabriel presses his hand over his pocket, desperately hoping the security cameras are still looping exactly as Ade and Ede promised.

Penelope grabs his wrist as they turn, guiding them back toward the doors leading out to the garden. Her hand begins to slip against his sleeve, so he slides his fingers down to catch hers, locking his grip tight as they follow Jia through the shifting crowd. Around them, the guests still stare up at the video, murmuring in interest and confusion, no doubt confusion over being advertised a school they already send or intend to send their offspring to. He just trusts that Ade and Ede managed to hide their digital footprint under layers and layers of encryption.

Penelope suddenly slips through a narrow opening between the bodies in front of them. Just as Gabriel steps to follow, the crowd shifts. A few people push right between them, jolting Gabriel backward and breaking his grip on Penelope’s hand.

The separation sends a spike of adrenaline through his chest. His path is entirely cut off. A few people bump hard into him, and he has to grab a thick-shouldered man's bicep just to bypass him and keep from being swept backward. A woman steps right in front of him, her shoulder digging briefly into his chest, and they trade quick, muttered apologies before Gabriel forces his way past and back through the last few bodies in front of him to find his crew.

Jia reaches Ade, Ede, and Villette first, and the four of them split apart seamlessly as they practiced, never keeping more than two or three of them in the same spot to avoid catching the eye of anyone who might recognize them together. Ede shoots him a quick, reassuring nod from afar as he follows Ade and Villette out the doors to the garden.

Penelope materializes beside him again, her fingers locking tightly around his wrist and tugging him toward the same doors. The quicker they escape, the better. They only have a matter of minutes before someone realizes that one of the necklaces is gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

Penelope is two steps ahead of him as they round the ramp to the second level of the Palazzo Colonna. They’re only about a hundred feet from the top when the ground beneath them suddenly shakes, followed by the unmistakable sound of a mini-explosion.

Instinctively, everyone around them pauses. A few yell out while others drop low, and Gabriel reaches out to rest his hand on Penelope’s shoulder, pressing her further away from the source of the sound. Both of them look behind them, back toward the gallery and the ballroom. A cacophony of voices rings out, then security personnel rush past them while other guests flood out of the main venue. It all happens within seconds, and the crowd down at the bottom of the stairs starts toward the ramp with more haste.

Gabriel turns back to an equally concerned Penelope, her lips downturned and still. “You okay?”

She just nods.

He runs his hand down her arm, catching her fingers and locking her hand in his. They move with a little more urgency than before, blending in with the rest of the guests pushing up the ramp. She follows without protest, her hand squeezing his twice.

The palace is nothing but raucous noise behind them, but Gabriel maintains a tight grip on Penelope’s hand as he maneuvers them through the crowd. They need to get out to the gardens and fade into the masses on the street. Otherwise, they're gonna get caught, especially if the security team starts checking guests now that they know there's a threat in the gallery, back where the necklace is supposed to be.

“Wait,” Penelope urges suddenly, tugging Gabriel, stopping him in his tracks. “We can’t go out that way.”

“Why?” Gabriel turns urgently. “We need to leave before they start searching everyone. If we manage to slip out in the chaos, we can avoid getting held up—”

“My dad,” Penelope states. Gabriel’s brows furrow in confusion. What about her dad?

As another few patrons pass by them for the exit, she abruptly pulls Gabriel closer to her, ducking behind one of the stone garden pillars. Her hands rest flat against his sides, slipping just under his open tuxedo jacket. High-stakes or not, Gabriel can admit the sudden warmth of her palms against his shirt leaves him entirely flustered.

“He’s by the exit,” she breathes, her voice low. “Waiting. I could see him.”

“Why would he care? There was just an alarm tripped; people are freaking a bit.” Gabriel presses in closer as another five or six guests brush behind him.

“He’s Caspian Lockett, Avery. You really expect him not to want to catch whoever managed to get close enough to steal the necklace? He’s not just gonna run scared because of an alarm trip, especially when he knows exactly what's at stake.”

“So then what?” Gabriel searches her face for an answer, pressing his hand gently against her back. If they manage to look like an unbothered couple canoodling in a quiet corner while everyone else rushes about, maybe no one will blink an eye… that is, if they don’t find it odd they aren’t headed toward the exit too.

Penelope breathes in deeply, gazing down for a moment before she presses a finger to her earpiece, tilting her head. “Ade. Ede. Now that we’re in, do you think you can manage to hack the security system long enough to drop those invisible volumetric barriers up on the roof?”

There is silence for a moment before Ade’s voice crackles through the feed. “I think I can manage that… why?”

Penelope glances back up at Gabriel, her eyes flicking between his. One of her shoulders shrugs up in a gentle tug, a single brow raising in a silent challenge. He answers her unvoiced plan.

“We go up. Get out.”

“We go up,” she echoes softly.

She pauses for a heartbeat as he stares back at her, swallowing hard, and then she presses upward. Her lips are just as soft as the first time. Penelope’s hand threads up into his hair, the faint tickle of her lace mask brushing against his cheek. He’sunbothered by that, to be honest. Gabriel’s far more taken aback by the sudden, second kiss that he didn't anticipate so soon after the first, especially given their current circumstances. His hand digs in further against her back while his other curls up under her jaw. His body feels entirely loopy, leaning heavily into Penelope until her back hits the stone column. He is losing his breath fast.

Suddenly, a sharp voice crackles through the earpiece. “Why are you two silent?” Amira demands.

“Are you two swapping spit?” Ade’s voice follows Amira’s clear disgust.

Gabriel pulls back, annoyed, though he knows his crew is justified. It is definitely not the time or the place. But as Penelope softly stares up at him, her eyes wide and dark, he can't bring himself to feel a single shred of remorse. There isn't a thread of guilt running through his veins, just a quiet disappointment that they should have been anywhere else right now…

“Meet on the roof.” Gabriel huffs through the earpiece, grabbing Penelope’s hand again and backtracking through the garden, dodging those moving in the opposite direction.

Jia's voice cuts into his ear. “Access to the roof is back in through the main hall? That’s right back toward the danger of getting caught.”

“So is the exit,” Gabriel counters.

“What d'ya mean?” Jia asks.

Penelope slips into the channel. “My father is waiting at the main exit. He’ll know the second we pass that it's us, and it won't take him or security long to lock us down. We have to change the escape plan.”

Amira counters smartly, “If we go back down to the gallery where a high-value necklace has been stolen and an explosion just occurred while everyone else leaves out of the gate, we are sure to be singled out as suspicious.”

“What about that side gate off the upper garden?” Jia states confidently. “I’ve been perusing all the entryways and gates, and they actually use fairly old-school locks that shouldn’t take too much effort. I can do it in under fifteen seconds.”

Gabriel clutches Penelope’s hand tightly as they turn back around, scaling back up the few feet they just descended and moving back toward the second level of the garden. “What’s through there?”

Ede’s voice breaks through the comms. “According to the map specs, there is an overgrown section that leads to a small concrete platform. It leads over to the flat roof of the Rovine Del Tempio di Serapide. We could scale down the roofs to the road from there.”

“Just a roof?” Amira asks.

“There’s a lot of air vents and units, but the roofs basically lead down to the roadway.”

“Let’s do it now before they start sweeping the place,” he murmurs. “The fewer chances they have to funnel us out the front gate, the better. The gate Jia saw earlier—”

“Left side, back of the garden when you come up from the ramp.” Jia clarifies.

Gabriel confirms her statement with a quick, “Uh-huh.”

He and Penelope make quick work of navigating through a few scattered guests, slipping their way toward the left side of the garden where Ede and Villette are already hiding in the shadows.

“Where’s Ade?” Gabriel asks, looking around as if the taller twin might pop out of thin air.

“The signal for the phone isn’t good back here,” Ede explains quickly. “He’s on the opposite end, closer to the main security room.”

“How is he—”

Villette shrugs. “He said he’ll be fine. Getting the biometric walls down is more important right now.”

“If he gets caught—” Penelope starts, anxiety lacing her tone.

“We know, Penelope,” Ede answers softly, his expression turning serious. “I know.”

Penelope swings her free hand out to clutch Ede’s forearm gently, the flash of worry in his eyes for his brother impossible to miss.

“What exactly happened down there?” Villette asks, her voice dropping.

“There was an explosion or something,” Penelope explains, relying on what little they are actually privy to beyond Amira's brief updates.

“Another crew?” Ede asks, his brow furrowing.

“Maybe. Could be,” Gabriel answers, his grip tightening on Penelope's fingers. “But that is the least of our concerns right now. We need to get out without being caught—that’s all that matters. Are you all ready to run?”

They all nod back in unison.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jia’s right; she manages to unlock the gate in a mere twelve seconds, an effort that earns her a look of admiration from Penelope. It leads to a dense, overgrown green courtyard. They hop over a low section of roof back down toward a tiny concrete platformed roof. There's another gate ahead, too treacherous to hop safely, so Jia gets right to work. A figure suddenly pops up from behind them.

“People are filing toward the gates,” Ade states as he meets them, Ede’s face filling with relief while Ade’s face stays lit by his phone. “Security’s stopping everyone. They’re definitely on the hunt for the necklace.”

“Good thinking, Penelope,” Amira remarks bluntly. Penelope smiles back at Amira.

“How much time do we have left?” Jia questions, picking the secondary lock as swiftly as she can.

“About seven, maybe eight, minutes before they realize we’re in and shut us down,” Ade confirms. “But I disengaged the biometric sensors and the cameras over here, so we have a clean window.”

Gabriel clutches Ade’s shoulder, a grin breaking through his nerves. “You’re the greatest.”

Ade smiles, then perks up at the compliment. “I know.” A few chuckles sound, and an oh, brotherescapes from Jia.

Gabriel reaches up and slips off his matte black mask, pocketing it along with the rest of the crew as they catch on. There’s no point in hiding their faces now that they have control of the grid. It’s entirely about getting out fast without being caught.

Ede presents his phone to the group to show a small visual map. “The safest and easiest way to the street is to scale the roofs down toward the outer roof section and double back a little. There looks to be a short seven- or eight-foot drop down to Salita di Montecavallo, the same road we walked on that first morning of our recon. We get down there, then we can blend and escape. There are a ton of air units and ventilation systems, so just watch yourself.”

Amira adds, “Once we make it to the street, don’t stop until you’re sure no one follows. Keep in pairs so you can help each other out of trouble, but if followed, split up. We can always meet back up once the coast is clear.”

Everyone nods.

“Ready?” Gabriel asks just as Jia finishes unlatching the gate's lock.

Jia nods to Gabriel in confirmation once she’s tested the door.

“Good luck.” He looks to every member of his crew, ensuring they’re all in. They are.

The gate opens, and the crew files up and over the low stone wall with practiced speed. The roof they land on is orangish-red and relatively flat, littered with a maze of random air units and metallic pipes of all sizes. They scale the rooftop obstacles with an agility and speed Miss Friedrich would be proud of, leaping over the air vents and hopping down tiers of the roof, attempting to get closer and closer to the outer roof that lines the street.

Hope blooms in Gabriel’s chest as they round a massive brick housing unit, heading fast, until a lone figure dressed in solid black tactical gear and a full black opera mask steps out from the shadows up ahead, clotheslining Ade directly in his tracks.

His friend falls painfully onto his back from the sudden surprise. Gabriel’s boots skid to a stop, the rest of the crew halting in a messy chain reaction—except for Villette. Following too close behind Ade in their mad pursuit of freedom, she has too much momentum and slams right into the larger figure’s chest. The stranger instantly curls his heavy arms around her, wrestling her down to the roof.

Then, a second figure pops out from behind a concrete housing for an air ventilation system, blindsiding Amira.

“Hello, Crooklings,” the second enforcer sneers. His voice sounds entirely mechanical; a voice disruptor must be hidden behind the white opera mask he wears. “Having fun?”

Ede lunges forward, using his shoulder to shove the silent enforcer off and away from Villette, quickly helping the blonde back to her feet. Next to them, Penelope and Jia rush to lift a groaning Ade, dusting their poor crewmate off, much to his obvious pain.

“Who the hell...?” Gabriel starts, but then he pauses as the realization hits him full force. “Nameless.”

The speaker chuckles from behind his mask. “Surprise.”

Amira’s Crookhaven training kicks in instantly. She stomps her heavy boot down on the talkative one’s foot, simultaneously driving her knee straight up into his doubled-over stomach. “Run!”

They spin on their heels, taking off back toward the rooftop they just came from as curses echo from the two enforcers behind them. Gabriel chances one glance over his shoulder to ensure his crew is following closely, when suddenly—

“Gabriel!” Penelope’s voice calls out with tense, sharp worry.

Gabriel turns back, but his body lunges right into a third enforcer who materialized from the blind spot of a large air vent. The impact completely stops his momentum, his chest heaving at the violent contact. Before he can reset his stance, a heavy arm slips over his head, locking around his chest from behind. He struggles against it, trying to wrench free suddenly, but to no avail. It’s hard to do when he's got another masked figure dressed in all black currently death-gripping his arms down to his sides.

He struggles a bit more than he’d like; the two of them are a little heftier than Ishaan was back at the Mercier heist two years ago.

The guy holding him from behind suddenly disappears, making it much harder for the second guy to hold him down. Penelope resets her form after a high kick to the guy's gut. Gabriel smirks, then throws his hands up and out with the distraction, causing the second guy to lose his grip on Gabriel’s arms. With a heavy swing, just like he learned from Crimnastics combat training, he lodges a closed fist right into the guy's masked face, the Nameless enforcer's body flinching back at the contact.

Gabriel chances a glance toward his friends, all now in various states of confusion in their own defense against more Nameless that somehow materialized suddenly out of the woodwork. He catches sight of one stepping up behind Ede while he’s distracted, trying to protect Villette—who, by the way, does not need protection, holding her own against one of the shorter figures dressed in all black.

Gabriel steps over, pulling the taller Nameless figure who held his arms into a headlock. The figure struggles only momentarily before breaking out of his grip and turning on him, lodging a kick right into Gabriel’s ribs. He recoils, then straightens up again like he was taught, breathing steadily to ease the pain.

The guy lobs a punch, and Gabriel dodges to the right, then presses forward with his own punch to the figure's ribs, left unprotected after the attempted jab. The guy keels over for a mere second before he lurches, attempting two more hits which Gabriel evades by the skin of his teeth. He leaps back, careful about the ledge that looms a few feet away.

Gabriel can only glance at the others for a second, taking stock of how Jia attempts a leg sweep on one and is almost successful until she’s surprised by another. Amira easily vaults away from her attacker, no doubt believing that outlasting the stamina of her opponent is her best bet. Penelope, though, easily counters and volleys with her own attackers, plural, while still dressed ready for a masquerade ball. It’s almost hypnotizing, if it weren’t for the fact that Gabriel is pounced on again.

He’s not sure how many dodges he makes or how many punches and kicks he supplies. It all feels never-ending, and yet they’ve only been up here for a few minutes, no doubt coming up on their deadline to get out before the biometric walls are back up.

A sudden urge of annoyance blares through him, and he throws a rather nasty kick right into his opponent's chest, sending them backward. Unfortunately, he doesn’t notice another coming up from behind.

His head goes into a lock, his breath cut off suddenly. His hands try to hit back out, trying to unfurl the rather large arms holding him strong around his neck. Gabriel almost lifts off his feet as he struggles to get out of it, his vision blurring as he takes in, worried and soundless, his friends being overrun by what seems to be more Nameless.

How many fucking people do his parents have under their thumbs?

Just as he kinda loses hope of getting out of this, oxygen stings as it rushes back into his lungs, and his knees roughly hit the ground, his hand reaching out to steady himself from fully falling over.

As he turns to see what happened, Edgar Delacombe brushes his hair off his forehead with a flick, his fists at the ready but his eyes staring down over the ledge. Gabriel leans over, the body of the large Nameless enforcer wrapped around him seconds ago, groaning on the roof beside theirs, about ten feet down.

Gabriel glances up at Edgar, who quirks a nonchalant brow at him before holding out a hand. The memory of Edgar’s smug warning back in the hotel lobby flashes through Gabriel's mind, a bitter pill to swallow. Gabriel takes it, however, letting the Legacy propel him back up. Something akin to thanks passes from his eyes, to which Edgar looks a little too smug for his own good.

Gabriel turns. Dorian is helping Jia from across the way. Amira is still outrunning and outmaneuvering her assailant. Ade and Ede thwart their own attacker as Villette holds her own. Penelope, handling two against one, looks like ever the expert.

Just as Gabriel starts with Edgar to relieve the smaller crook of both her opponents, another brushes out of the shadows right up behind Penelope. He’s not close enough to help, but he watches as the assailant surprises her with a sweep of the leg, and Penelope’s on the ground. The goon presses a hand to her chest to keep her down.

Villette gets kicked down too. Amira gets blindsided, and the Nameless running after the Crimnastics ace finally catches her, Amira’s legs kicking out in the air to try to regain the upper hand, to no avail. Ade and Ede are corralled back toward the ledges down toward the side street, about twenty feet down, stopping the brothers in their tracks from any defense.

Gabriel sees red.

He chances a glance at Edgar, who wears a similar disgruntled gaze at the sight before them, before both guys decide they’re better off joining the fight than standing around watching the others get wounded. Gabriel almost launches himself at one of the three assailants who attacked Penelope before his arm is suddenly wrenched back tightly, Edgar stopping him in his tracks.

He almost throws the guy off in a fit of confused rage—wasn’t Edgar just about to join in himself?—but then he sees Edgar pointedly staring off toward the darkness. He notices a lone figure perched on one of the air units, completely masked in darkness. If you weren't paying close attention, you wouldn’t even be able to see their dark outline.

The Nameless stand at attention to the person, still on guard in case any of them move to attack, but stopping their continued advance on the Crooks themselves.

“Oh, sweetie.”

Gabriel’s blood runs cold. The voice is unmistakable to him now. It's a tone that meets him in his wildest nightmares on occasion, the one in the past he’d always dreamed of one day knowing, but now wants nothing more than to erase from all existence.

“Adria.”

He doesn’t give the woman what she wants.

“Honestly, I don’t mind Mum.”

“You don’t deserve it.” He almost lunges forward, but Edgar keeps a firm hold on him. Probably smartly so, even if it annoys the fuck out of Gabriel.

“I really wish you would see reason, sweetie. Your father and I just want what’s best for yo—”

He cuts her off. “No, you want what’s best for you. I just happen to be the greatest pawn in your arsenal.”

His mother’s head tilts momentarily in the darkness, contemplating his remark. Gabriel chances a glance at Penelope, who barely sits up, one of the goons standing over her threatening something unspoken should she try anything more. It grates on his nerves.

“You are a great asset, Gabriel. But we’d never use you without reason.”

Maybe he’s irrationally angry... maybe it would be better if he had a calm head about him so he'd be able to think more clearly and come up with a plan to get them all out of this more unscathed than they already are. But he just can’t grasp it. He wrestles his arm out from Edgar, who protests lightly before realizing Gabriel's anger is either getting directed toward his mother or toward the Delacombe legacy. Edgar lets him go, and Gabriel starts to stalk over.

Movement from behind startles all of them, causing them to turn around to glance at the four figures who now stand feet away from the roof access that got them into this predicament in the first place.

“Gabriel,” Caspian Lockett warns, his arm raised to calm him down from afar.

“Caspian Lockett,” his mother sneers, “we've gotta stop running into each other like this.”

“You’re brave to show up here, Adria. I wouldn’t peg you to risk your safety among the Crooked Network.”

“We do what we have to, Caspian. You would know that well.” His mother's words harken back to everything Gabriel despised about his first year at Crookhaven. Her face then tightens. “Yet this time you brought your precious wife. Carmen. How’ve you been?”

Penelope’s mother doesn’t back down, her stance tall and confident, her gaze slightly regretful. “Been better. You’re really putting us in for a loop these days.” Carmen then zeros in on her daughter, a fire lighting in her eyes, but she keeps her composure. Mrs Lockett focuses back on his mother.

“I’ve always had to keep you on your toes,” his mother remarks.

Something unspoken passes between the two women that, honestly, in any other situation, Gabriel would question, but the rage at his own mother is too strong for him to care.

“Why now?” Gabriel seethes. “You gave me until the end of May.”

“We were getting restless,” his mother responds with a lilt of glee, like this is exactly what she wanted in the first place. She removes her mask slowly, her smirk meeting him full force.

He speaks, “I have the necklace. I was about to—”

“Hand me this?”

From her hand dangles an emerald necklace, its stones shining in the low light of the few spotlights on the roof and the distant lights of the palace complex.

Gabriel exhales suddenly. His hand shoots to his jacket pocket, pulling out something that looks akin to costume jewelry. His brows furrow, confused, before his brain sends him back in time.

The woman who bumped into him in the gallery when he and Penelope got separated.

“Sorry, sweetie,” her voice drips with sarcasm, “but you did us proud. You should be quite pleased with yourself for that.”

“What the hell?” He seethes with anger, tossing the fake play necklace away before pausing, his face morphing into realization. “You duped me.”

“You planned the perfect heist. Your father and I are impressed, but we had to intervene.”

“Why?”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds or,” his mother holds up the real emerald necklace, the lights all around them reflecting off the stones as colors burst forth, “about three million. This will go a long way in ensuring the Nameless's survival, and we couldn’t have done it without you, sweetie.”

“You cheated us. Lied to steal it for yourselves,” Jia spouts, much to his mother’s chagrin.

“Was there ever going to be a leak of Crookhaven's student information?” Penelope croaks from the ground.

Adria shrugs with a smirk. “Only time will tell.” His mother’s gaze fixes back on him. “Join us, and I’ll promise never to.”

“I'm not a tactless criminal. You want to harm people. I don't. I never will,” he spits out. “I’ll never join you.”

“Pity,” his mother tsks. “I’ll be seeing you soon, sweetie. Your father still very much wants to meet you.”

“He’ll never get the privilege.”

She snorts at him, suddenly backing away toward the edge of the air conditioner unit. “Don’t make promises we won’t let you keep. It was nice to see you, my sweet boy.” His mother smirks, “Until next time.”

Then, just like she appeared, she disappears. A few of her Nameless lackeys attempt their own brazen escape. Some make it, while others run into security, alerted by the roof's biometric sensors. They struggle in kind.

Good.

There is much more Gabriel would like to do for some of them.

~~~~~~~~~~

“It was all a lie,” Gabriel seethes, pacing the street corner, his hands running roughly through his hair. Anger buzzes off him in waves. Disbelief and maybe a little envy at the cunning way the Nameless planned this down to a T. He limps just a fraction, a visible reminder of the heavy kick he took to the ribs on the roof.

Penelope shifts in her boots, a little impressed herself and definitely sore. All that for the necklace to be stolen out from under them. She thought they really had a chance at winning the assessment if they hadn’t been duped.

“Your mother and father will try every crooked trick in the book to force others to do their bidding,” Caspian reasons, his tone soft and genuinely apologetic. “Whatever it is they want, they map it out before you even realize you're on the board. It’s an easy trap to fall into—”

“But why me?” Gabriel turns on her father, his voice cracking. “Why the fuck can’t they just leave me alone? I already told them I don’t want any part of their organization.”

“People have changes of heart all the time, Gabriel,” Penelope’s mother adds. “Sometimes, wearing someone down to the bone is all it takes to make them surrender.”

“No,” Gabriel spits. “It only makes me hate them more. They claim to care, to want to know me, yet they use me, they hurt the people I care about, they—”

“Gabester,” Ede speaks up gently, effectively stopping Gabriel in his effort to burn a hole straight through the city sidewalk. Gabriel’s eyes still flare with red-hot frustration, but he focuses on Ede all the same. “We’re in this with you. Whatever happens.”

Penelope can feel the tension radiating off him, entirely palpable. She suppresses the overwhelming urge to comfort him, but... why? They are friends, and after everything that happened tonight… they’re a lot more than friends?

Amira places a hand on Ede’s shoulder, nodding in unison with the rest of the crew. “Like we said, Gabriel, they go after you, they go after us. We’re a team.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Gabriel counters defensively.

Penelope steps forward, her hand reaching out to firmly grasp his. “But we are. And we choose to be.”

Jia smiles, throwing a casual arm over Ade’s shoulders. “We run directly into the face of danger. Scars and all.”

Ade laughs weakly, wincing as he adjusts his posture. “Yeah. Severe back pain and a swift punch to the gut. I love it.” Ade breathes out shakily with another grin.

Gabriel just glances around at the circle of them, his face contorted with an internal conflict. His fingers curl softly around the back of Penelope's hand for a brief, fleeting moment, and then he lets go, burying his hands deep into his pockets.

Penelope swallows down the lump in her throat. It hurts a little, she has to admit. The quiet rejection.

“I just… I need a minute,” Gabriel mumbles, turning to walk slowly down the street.

“But—” Penelope starts.

A warm hand falls to her shoulder, her father stepping up beside her. “Let him have a minute.”

Penelope turns to her dad, wrapping her arms around her waist. The sudden chill of the late April night dusts goosebumps across her exposed skin. She holds back her own wince, her shoulder incredibly sore from her own rough landing on the roof.

Her father gives her a look; she hates that, but he shrugs off his suit jacket, setting it over her shoulders.

“What happens now?” she asks. “They got away with the necklace. We still don’t know if they’re gonna expose everyone at Crookhaven. All of their parents. Addresses. Records.”

“I’ll ensure we get the necessary people together,” Caspian answers. “We won’t let that information leak as long as we have the power to thwart it. Whisper can do a lot with a little.”

“Yeah, but how?” Amira steps forward with curiosity. “They could easily leak it through non-technical channels. Not like us thwarting their ability to use the network will stop them.”

“Well, it also depends on what they got and how they got it,” Penelope’s mother speaks, her voice gentle yet somehow more commanding than her father’s. “We’re Crooks. We have failsafes and proxies. If they got the real information from our encrypted network, then maybe. But if they got their information from our fake database, then they’re in for a surprise.”

“So we did all that for them to potentially just have fake records on Crookhaven students?” Ade's brow allocation quirks.

“Not for nothing,” Carmen reassures. “You worked together as a crew to win a Crookhaven tradition. And if it weren’t for Adria and the Nameless, you would’ve won that fair and square from where I was standing. The blackmail was just an unfortunate catalyst.”

“So, what now?” Penelope asks again. Her mother steps closer, wrapping a comforting arm around her waist and resting her temple against Penelope’s head. Penelope welcomes the familiar warmth.

“We pick ourselves up,” Caspian starts, but he pauses, his gaze drifting past Penelope and her mother.

Gabriel is standing about twenty feet back, his expression noticeably calmer as he watches them. His hands are still shoved deep into his pockets, but his shoulders have loosened, the rigid tension finally leaving his frame. A ghost of a smile crosses her father’s face before finishing his thought: “We get back home to Crookhaven, and we build our offense. They can’t break us if they can’t touch us. Crooks have always been better when we stick together.”

“I’ll say,” Edgar Delacombe interrupts smoothly, stepping out from the shadows of the wall. Penelope had almost forgotten that he and Dorian were still lingering there. “You lot practically attract chaos like a magnet, but even I can'tdeny you held your own up on that roof.”

“Ditto,” Jia says. The agreement is a little reluctant, but coming from her, it speaks volumes.

It’s only then that Gabriel moves back into the circle. He delivers a quick, appreciative pat to Edgar’s shoulder as he passes. Then he looks to the rest of them.

“Thanks.”

They don’t say much but nod in understanding. The outcome of the night was never expected, but they managed to plan a pretty epic heist. They had it. Her mother’s right: regardless of whether there was a threat hanging over them, over Gabriel, or not, they would’ve clinched the win.

“What about the necklace?” Villette murmurs darkly, eyes sharp.

Caspian breathes out a sharp sigh. “That will be a difficult conversation for me to have with the higher-ups in the Crooked Network. It’s not ideal, but I am certain a piece of that caliber will surface on the black market soon enough. When it does, we’ll ensure we trace the transaction back to its source.”

“Three million pounds,” Ade mutters. “That’s a lot of money in their pocket.”

Carmen reasons, “It will go for significantly less on the market as a stolen item, Ade, but yes, it is a substantial sum. However, it still won't be enough to sustain the rate at which the Nameless bleeds funding. They will have to strike again eventually, and when they do, we will be ready.”

Caspian suddenly perks up, noticing a few familiar figures down the sidewalk waving him over. “Ah, duty calls. Already a few developments to sort out from tonight's mess.”

Her father plants a quick, affectionate kiss right against Penelope's hairline, then extends his hand toward her mother. Carmen presses Penelope into a final, brief hug before taking Caspian's hand. Together, her parents walk away toward their companions with their heads held high.

“Get back to the hotel, you lot,” Caspian calls over his shoulder. “We’ll have plenty more to discuss ourselves once we'resafely back at Crookhaven.”

“Well, that was eventful,” Edgar states with his usual practiced nonchalance. “As absolutely thrilling as this little bonding experience has been,” sarcasm drips from his voice, though there’s a faint trace of genuine respect underneath, “I’m entirely over it. Try not to trip on your way back.”

“That would be a tragedy,” Dorian agrees, giving a quick nod with a smirk playing on his lips. He shoots Jia a brief, lingering glance before Edgar pushes past the circle. Dorian follows closely behind, the two Legacies walking away down the cobblestone street, chuckling between themselves.

That leaves the crew to their own devices. The silence hangs a little heavier than usual. It's difficult to process a night of this scale, everyone standing face-to-face, waiting to see who will break the quiet first.

Naturally, it’s Gabriel.

“You all did a really great job tonight,” he says softly, looking at each of them. “This whole time, honestly. Thanks.”

Amira shrugs casually for the group. “Always. Just let us know the time and place for the next one.”

Gabriel cracks a small, genuine smile, scratching the back of his neck lightly.

“I could personally soak in an ice bath right about now,” Ade remarks, wincing as he takes a tentative step forward.

“Where do you think you're going?” Jia asks, her eyebrows raising.

“Figure it’s going to take me at least an hour to limp back to the hotel,” Ade explains, shuffling slowly down the street. “If I start right now, I might just make it back with enough time to get a decent night’s sleep.”

“Oh, you are going to milk this injury for absolutely all it's worth, aren’t you?” Jia responds with a playful eye roll, though she starts walking after him anyway to keep pace.

Ede answers for his twin with a grin. “He’s merely capitalizing on an opportunity.” He and Villette follow right behind them, Amira laughing as she throws a supportive arm around Ede's shoulder as they pass.

Penelope smiles warmly after them. Then there is Gabriel.

He stays exactly where he is, his dark eyes fixed entirely on her. He takes a few casual, slow steps forward until he is standing mere feet away in the quiet street. He licks his lips quickly, his voice dropping to a low, concerned whisper. “You okay?”

She nods. “You?”

He nods back, taking a deep breath.

She adds, “Ready to go back?”

“To the hotel?” he asks, a faint glint returning to his eyes. “Or back to Crookhaven?”

“Both?”

After a brief beat, a soft smile touches his lips. “Yeah.”

He reaches out, holding his open hand out to her in a silent offer. Penelope takes it happily, threading her fingers tightly between his. She lets him gently pull her down the street after the rest of their crew, listening to the faint sound of their friends making jokes through the quiet Italian streets at this hour.

Feeling a sudden burst of playful relief, she nudges his side with her elbow.

Gabriel instantly flinches, groaning out loud as he pushes away from her in a sudden jolt, though he refuses to drop her hand.

His ribs. Shit. Penelope's eyes go wide, and she quickly pulls him back into her space. “I’m so sorry!” She rests her free hand gently over the exact spot on his jacket she had just jostled, looking up at him worriedly as he locks his jaw and breathes deeply through the sharp spike of pain. “Are you okay?”

“Yep.” The answer is short and sweet, but his voice sounds entirely genuine.

She still cringes at having caused him pain. “I completely forgot for a split second there.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel chuckles weakly, his gaze softening as he looks down at her hand against his chest. He jokes, “To be fair, I did for a minute there, too.”

Their steps slow a little as they reach the dark bend in the street, but neither of them lets go. Under the dim, amber glow of the streetlamps, Gabriel shifts his grip, locking his fingers firmly with hers as they walk forward together into the night, the others' light conversation filling the space.

~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t take long the next morning for Penelope to pack all her things back into her duffle, but gosh, she sure is glad when it’s done. Her shoulder catches with a sharp ache as she lifts the strap to her shoulder, forcing a quick wince. Maybe she could’ve left some of her listening gear back at Crookhaven.

She stands up, carefully rolling her shoulder to ease the stiffness, and looks around the empty room. She loves Rome and wouldn’t mind coming back more in the future, but sometimes there’s a beauty to Crookhaven that other places just don’t have.

That, and it truly is home to her.

Slinging the strap over to her good shoulder, she hauls the duffle out into the hallway and heads down toward the lobby. She texts the crew as she leaves her room, Ade answering immediately that they’re all already downstairs, a few of them about to run out for a last-minute pastry run before their trek back to the train station commences. He promises her he’ll pick her up something sweet for the trip back. She hearts his message.

When she steps into the lobby, she spots Gabriel sitting on the arm of a chair off in the lounge as she places her duffle next to the pile headed back with them to Crookhaven. He shifts to sit up a little more, his hand subtly flattening against his lower torso with a barely noticeable wince as his bruised ribs protest the movement. But the pain is instantly replaced by a smirk the second he spots her walking toward him.

As she draws nearer, his face morphs into confusion, then realization, before settling on something between admiration and annoyance.

“Is that my—” Gabriel reaches out as she nears, pinching the hem of his—Penelope’s jacket. “I was looking everywhere for this this morning.”

“What’re you talking about?” Penelope’s brows furrow at him, stepping an inch closer. “This is mine.”

“Pen…” Gabriel reaches up, his fingers sliding to the collar of the jacket. As he folds it back down flat against her shoulder, his knuckles brush light and warm against the bare skin of her neck.

Penelope’s breath hitches, just a fraction.

Gabriel freezes for a second, his hand lingering on her shoulder, his gaze dropping cleanly to her lips before he recovers his smirk. “How did you even—”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that information to you,” Penelope murmurs, a sharp glint in her eye.

“We’ll talk about it late—”

Penelope presses forward, leaning down and kissing him cleanly to shut him up. She’s found a new way to make him stop talking, and honestly, she’s quite a fan. And not just because she can distract him from whatever nonsense is coming out of his mouth, but also because she kinda just likes kissing him. Like… she really likes it.

Gabriel melts into it without a single shred of protest. His hand slides up from her shoulder to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair to steady them together as his mouth moves against hers, deepening the kiss until her heart is hammering against her ribs.

“Ahem.”

They pull apart abruptly. Gabriel snatches his hand back and stands up, taking a giant step to the side while Penelope quickly tugs the jacket straight and turns around.

Caspian Lockett’s eyes couldn’t widen any further than Penelope thinks they could right now. Nor her mother’s. Her father fidgets with his own suit jacket as he glances at Gabriel, then back to her.

“Gabriel.”

Penelope glances at her companion. His face heats up to a bright, brilliant pink, his mouth set in a straight line, his ears turning red for good measure.

“Headmaster… Mr. Lockett.” Gabriel swallows hard. “How are you?”

Caspian analyzes Gabriel, his eyes narrowing. “I do not believe you actually care to know.”

“I—uh... but—”

Carmen takes in the whole interaction with the ghost of an amused smile. “I don’t think we are needed over here at the moment.” Her mother meets her gaze knowingly, making Penelope internally cringe.

Penelope’s father jolts, then turns to his wife. “Oh, but we need to tell our daughter the great news.”

Penelope steps forward at this, curiosity suddenly blooming and making her completely forget she should probably be embarrassed that her parents just caught her kissing her… friend? Boyfriend? Her crewmate.

“What is it? Is everything okay?” Her eyes flicker between her parents. What could they possibly have to tell her now?

“Well,” her mother smiles, “I will be helping teach combat next year.”

“Teach combat? What would you—” Penelope cuts herself off as her mother’s words fully process in her brain. “You’re coming home?”

Caspian smiles softly, staring lovingly at his wife as her mother nods with the same level of happiness Penelope suddenly feels rushing through her veins. She launches herself forward, her arms flying around her mother as they pull each other into a tight embrace.

“You’re coming home,” she murmurs into her mother’s shoulder.

“I’ll be on the train with you and your father. And yes, Penelope,” her mother pulls back from their embrace, cupping Penelope’s face gently between her hands, “I’m coming home.”

The tears in Penelope’s eyes blur her vision before she’s clutching onto her mum again, relishing the fact that after two years of keeping far away, and even with the added threat of the Nameless still out there, she finally gets her mother back where she belongs.

Her father’s arms wrap gently around the two of them, his distinct, soft cedar scent filling her nose. She literally couldn’t be happier than right now.

“Now, we’ll see you back at Crookhaven. We’ve got a lot to discuss after last night’s developments,” her father finishes, pulling away to allow her and her mother to release their hold on one another.

Her mother caresses Penelope’s cheek one last time. “Safe travels, my darling.”

“I’ll see you at home,” Penelope responds in kind. Her mother smiles and turns back around, grazing her father’s hand to follow him out.

“Gabriel,” her father says suddenly.

Gabriel stands up straight again, looking less than comfortable with the short, simple acknowledgment. Her father then turns, easily catching up to her mother’s retreating form.

Penelope’s face hurts with how big she’s smiling as she turns back to Gabriel. “Can you believe it? I get my mother back.”

“Pretty sure your dad wants my head.”

Penelope’s face falls slightly.

“Gabriel,” he mimics her father’s stern, low tone, getting the deep lilt accurate. It’s almost scary. “Your father wants my freaking head, Penel—”

She leans up, sealing his mouth with hers. Gabriel sighs into the kiss, the tension instantly leaving his shoulders as he lets the panic go. When she’s confident he’s thoroughly distracted, she pulls back, dropping back down onto the soles of her shoes.

“That’s gonna get annoying,” Gabriel murmurs, his voice a little breathless as he reaches out. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering against the soft skin of her jawline for a beat longer.

“Really?” She probes with a tick of her brow.

Gabriel’s gaze drops to her mouth again, a genuine smile breaking through. “Yeah, no. I could definitely get used to this.”

She wraps her arms securely around his neck, tiptoeing right back up to press closer. “Good.” She presses her lips to his willing ones for a long, lingering moment. Pulling back just an inch, she whispers, “I kinda want to do it all the time.”

Gabriel smiles. “No complaints here.” He closes the remaining distance, sealing his agreement in a deep kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~

He still doesn’t know if he’s used to Crookhaven, but it has become a refuge of sorts. It's somewhere he’s accepted despite his parentage, a stark contrast to how he grew up scrounging for food money for his gran.

Ade pats his back excitedly, apparently eager to be back for the new year. After last, they could use some normalcy again—or at least, what normalcy a bunch of teenagers learning how to be crooks could have. He’s already started hearing rumblings about needing to perform well in upcoming trials as different Crook organizations start to recruit students right out of Crookhaven… where they could recruit him.

And Gabriel may be a little excited for other reasons, considering that after two months and only a few letters (he still doesn’t have a phone after two years of Ade and Ede pestering him), this’ll be the first time he’s seen Penelope after how they’d left things before summer.

He just hopes they’re still at least in the same book…

“Have you heard the rumors?” Jia pops up from behind them, making them turn in surprise.

“What rumors?” Ede questions with typical trepidation.

Ade smiles, surprising Jia with an embrace that she attempts to deny she appreciates with the scowl that takes over her face, though she still manages to pat Ade on the side as he pulls away.

“Juicy ones, I hope,” Ade adds. “Did Lulu and Warren finally hook up? Does Whisper have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?” Ade hops on his toes eagerly. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Jia.”

“This year’s assessment,” Jia says strictly, shooting Ade a glare. “Supposedly, they’re gonna have us apply our skills in the real world.”

“A real-world assessment,” Ede repeats, gulping at the thought.

Gabriel adjusts his crooked tie, worn a little looser than Ede’s fairly straight one, and scoffs. “Like they want a bunch of us out in London pickpocketing criminals or something?”

“Apparently, they plan a heist every few years. We just so happen to be in the midst of one of those cycles,” Jia answers with a shrug.

“I hope it’s not London,” Ade comments, hopping in place in anticipation. “I’d rather go somewhere exotic, like France. Oh, or Portugal.”

“Since when is France exotic?” Ede remarks.

Ade stares at his brother incredulously. “As if you’ve ever been out of London. Where would you consider exotic, then?”

Ede starts to ponder the question as they meander into the main estate. Gabriel catches only a fraction of the argument between the twins, smiling absently, almost ready to agree with Ede’s suggestion of Ibiza—

“Avery.”

His head whips straight, brown eyes meeting brown. Penelope stands in her crisp uniform, her crossover tie perfect and her skirt flawlessly ironed. Dark brown hair cascades over her shoulder in waves as she stares back at him from across the grand hallway. He can’t help the small uptick of his mouth or how his body buzzes just that little bit more at actually seeing her rather than just the thought of her.

“Oh, brother,” Jia murmurs.

Gabriel’s gaze shoots to Jia for a split second before training right back on Penelope. Letters just aren’t enough.

“Lockett,” Ade calls out with a smile, heading toward the headmaster’s daughter as if they’re the best of friends. Gabriel guesses that after last year, when she basically saved Ede from having a panic attack in Maravel’s maze, the younger twin sees her as such. “How’s my favorite Legacy?”

Gabriel moves after Ade, contemplating whether a simple "Hi" is a perfectly reasonable greeting after two months apart. Penelope looks slightly shocked as Ade pulls her into an embrace, though she seems to take it better than Jia did.

“Fine.”

It’s short, sweet, and so Penelope. Never needing too many words to get her point across. Ede swoops in after his brother, giving Penelope a quick hug as some silent understanding passes between the two of them.

“You two are so gushy.”

Amira pipes up from behind. Gabriel turns as Amira shoots Ede and Ade a look that feels playful in nature, but Gabriel knows she and Penelope still aren’t on the best of terms. The third degree she's giving the twins isn't necessarily a good sign.

Both girls tolerate each other because they happen to hang out with the same group. And Gabriel sometimes thinks it’s only because of him, really. But that would make him conceited, so he lets the thought go as quickly as it floats through his head.

Ade smiles. “Mad you’re last?” He playfully goes in to pick her up in a bear hug, much to Amira’s feigned disgust.

Gabriel smiles, but the need to swivel back around to Penelope is too strong. As Ade playfully whips Amira back and forth in his arms, Gabriel turns and hesitates for a moment… should he even? 

He decides yes.

Pulling Penelope in under his right arm, her own wrap loosely around his middle in return. He catches the glance Jia shoots them, but she just as quickly ignores them, focusing instead on Ade pestering Amira with questions about her summer.

Gabriel lets Penelope go gently, and she glances back up at him.

“Got my last letter?”

“Yeah.” His mouth upturns again. “Thanks for the advice. It really helped.”

“Figured you could use some encouragement. Can’t have you getting cold feet thinking you don’t belong here.”

Gabriel loves and hates the warmth that blooms from her saying those words with such a glint in her eye. It's something he’s still shocked by, worlds away from her feelings toward him when he first arrived at Crookhaven two years ago, and worlds away from how he initially saw himself belonging, too. He finally fits in somewhere considered unconventional, and he wouldn’t have it any other way now.

“Good to be back.”

“After last year?” Penelope responds. “Fresh start.”

After last year and this summer, he could use one.

“Fresh start,” he repeats.

His parents are still lingering in the back of his mind, demanding he pay them hundreds of thousands of pounds. How he’ll manage that, he doesn't quite know. To be blackmailed by your own parents because they’re mad you didn’t join them a second time… that’s a layer of complication even he doesn’t want to peel back.

“Attention!” Mr. Valesquez’s voice cuts through the chatter of the hall.

All eyes are trained on the staff standing at the top landing of the staircase at the end of the hall: Jericho, Sisman, Whisper, Khan, and Palombo. Headmaster Caspian Lockett stands right in the middle, a smirk playing on his face as he surveils all the returning students and a few new faces. Penelope stands straighter at the sight of her father, stepping forward toward the staircase with the rest of Crookhaven. Gabriel steps next to her, staring up at their elders.

“Good morning, crooklings,” Miss Jericho calls out with a genuine, warm smile. “Hope you all settled in well for your first night.”

Most actually arrived yesterday and have already unpacked. Gabriel extended his time with his gran by one more day to ensure the woman had everything she needed for his time away and to make sure all the bills for their apartment were paid at least until he returned during Crooxeat. Because of that, his stuff had been thrown into the room he shares with the twins as fast as humanly possible this morning, right before he hobbled into his uniform to be on time.

“Welcome to those of you joining us for the first time,” Miss Jericho continues, scanning the new faces, “and those of you back again for another year of training. It’s good to be back.”

Gabriel glances briefly down at Penelope, who’s already side-eying him with minuscule amusement.

“As we start the year, we acknowledge there are some rumblings of the Nameless—”

Murmurs immediately break through the room, and Gabriel’s face tightens.

“Please,” Sisman calls out, his voice booming over the noise. “Listen up. We won’t be repeating ourselves, ya hear?” The head gardener and master boobytrapper nods back toward Miss Jericho.

“We’ve heard the rumors, and there is nothing to be concerned about,” Miss Jericho continues. “The island is secure, and we have patrols everywhere. The rumors are just that. They are designed to make you anxious, and there is no reason to be.”

That doesn’t stop the air in the room from tightening, making the space feel almost claustrophobic. Penelope shifts next to him, her arm brushing against his side. She knows about the letter he got. She knows that if he does not pay up by the deadline at the end of May next year, the Nameless will retaliate, and Crookhaven will be right in their crosshairs. The rumors, in this case, are entirely true.

The heavy tension in his jaw is noticeable, especially when he catches Caspian Lockett’s gaze. It’s almost as if the man already knows. Penelope wouldn’t tell her father… would she?

Caspian glances back at the crowd and steps forward, his hand braced on Miss Jericho's shoulder, gently stopping her from continuing.

“Let us get back to why we are all here,” Caspian says, his commanding voice instantly silencing the room. “To learn, and to gain the skills needed to be the best Crooks you can be. To give back to society by being those with integrity and goodness, bringing down those who seek to harm.”

When Caspian Lockett talks, people listen.

“Now, I think something we can announce to you is the event of the year, which we like to call… the Assessment.”

Murmurs break out again, but these bring a sharp turn, an air of excitement that even Gabriel is intrigued by. Jia was right, and she looks mighty proud of herself standing next to him. Gabriel’s mouth ticks up.

Caspian has a distinct glint in his eye as he continues. “The Assessment will test your skills not only as an individual, but as a crew. A heist where you plan, you execute, and you show off your specialty as crooks in training. A competition where the prize is bragging rights… and a cash prize of one hundred thousand pounds.”

Gabriel bolts upright at that. One hundred thousand pounds. That would be a massive, life-saving help in securing the money his parents demanded. A gentle tug at his blazer makes him look down, finding Penelope silently communicating with her eyes. There’s no other option but to win. None at all.

“Your training this year will prepare you for the heist, and you won’t know where or what you will be doing until it starts, keeping things entirely fair.”

Excited whispers ripple through the hall.

“Study well, Crooklings. And have a wonderfully crooked year.”

People clap, some hooting in excitement, while Gabriel just stares for a moment or two longer as the Crookhaven staff convene among themselves up on the landing.

“So, I was right.”

Gabriel’s brows furrow momentarily as he regards his friends, who are already huddling into their own tight circle, before he fully processes Jia’s jubilation.

“Well, now we need to start a pot on where this assessment is going to take place,” Ade says. “I’ll put my money on Portugal.”

“I’ll go for Turkey.” Amira bites in.

“Eh,” Ede doesn't look convinced about that one. “I would want to go somewhere warmer.”

“Like?” Ade presses.

“Like… Turks and Caicos.”

“I’ll put my money on that one.” Villette appears out of nowhere behind Ede, making the shorter twin jump.

“Villette.” Ade laughs awkwardly, his eyes darting around the rest of them. “You’re back.”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Villette says, her face a perfect blank mask. “Put me down for Turks and Caicos.”

“You can’t do that,” Ede responds timidly.

“Why not?” Villette asks with a small practiced smile.

“Rules don’t say she can’t,” Amira intervenes. “Just that if you’re right, you split the pool.”

Ede looks conflicted. “I don’t want to split it—”

“Too late, bro,” Ade chuckles through his teeth, patting his brother on the back in jest. “Even if you win, you lose. I’d say get used to it, but I’m pretty sure you already are.”

Ede sneers at his twin. “So are you.”

Gabriel smiles at the banter.

“Lockett?” Amira prompts, acknowledging Penelope.

“I’ll go with Cairo.”

“Good guess, good guess.” Ade nods in appreciation. “Gabester? What’ll it be?”

“Anywhere other than London.” The majority of them nod in understanding. It's not like Gabriel has ever really been far from England, so anywhere else would be just fine by him.

“Gotta pick a specific destination,” Amira corrects, even though she seems to agree with the sentiment.

“Monte Carlo,” he shrugs.

"I'll go with Tokyo." Jia chimes in.

“Ooo,” Ade nods with a smile. “I like that one. Good pick, Ja-Jia. Now, cash. Twenty pounds each?”

Ade glances around as everyone nods or shrugs. Gabriel realizes that if he manages to win the crew's betting pool, at least that’d be about one hundred and forty pounds to kickstart the pot for the Nameless. It’s something.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mr. Palombo dives deep into how to create fakes and spot them, testing them with various painting techniques and encouraging further study. It’s why Penelope finds herself in the library close to 9 p.m. one night, her head bent over an old book that describes some of the world's most precious artworks and jewelry. It’s a little musty and almost 800 pages long.

Technique is always important to the artist—those little personal touches during creation that distinguish one work from another. They are telltale signs that, by looking at a piece, one could know that, yep, that painting was one of Monet's or Leonardo's.

“You’re up late?”

Penelope’s eyes shoot up through her lashes. Gabriel Avery meanders over with his hands shoved into his hoodie, looking far more casual in the evening than in the typical Crookhaven garb they’re required to wear. She can tell he’s rubbing his special coin between his fingers inside his pocket.

“Getting ahead of the forgery training.”

“Always the perfect student.” He tsks playfully. “You know you’re basically at the top of the Most Wanted? You don’t have to do extra credit.”

“I have to solidify my spot from the likes of you.” She smirks, then pauses, her face falling slightly at the thought of the other Legacy. “And Edgar.”

“Wanna team up?” Gabriel smirks, pulling his hand out of his pocket, rolling his lucky coin over his knuckles absentmindedly. “Edgar wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Penelope settles her arms on top of the old oak table in front of her, an eyebrow raised. “Neither would you, Avery.”

Gabriel sighs before sitting down across from her, pocketing his coin. “Okay, wanna help me with Mr. Palombo’s assignment then? Y’know, since you’re the expert and all that.”

“Kind of you to finally admit it.” Penelope smiles. “I know it’s hard for you.”

“Like pulling teeth,” Gabriel volleys back easily, the smallest of quirks catching the corner of his lips.

Penelope closes the book in front of her, honestly close to a headache if she stares at any more forgeries, penmanship techniques, or brushstrokes.

“Any word from your parents?”

Gabriel’s face instantly loses that playful look she’s become accustomed to these days.

“Nothing yet.” He breathes deeply, staring off somewhere behind her, his eyes far away. “Though I’ve been counting down the days. It's not like they’re scared of contacting me when they want something.”

Abandonment.

Penelope can admit it makes her uncomfortable. Now that she knows Gabriel as a friend, she might even admit a close friend, she understands how deeply he feels about his parents. She recognizes the longing that crosses his gaze whenever they bring up his criminal family, the ones who gave him up and stayed away until it was convenient for them, only returning when they realized they wouldn't get to influence him, and then the conflict of being completely against his parents' ethos. 

Penelope decides comfort is the answer, or at least her best attempt at it. Reaching across the table, she rests her hand atop his. Gabriel’s eyes focus back on her at the touch, then stare for entirely too long down at her hand clasping his. She should pull away. She definitely should.

Gabriel glances back up at her. “Thanks.”

Only then does she suddenly pull back, something warm running through her. She folds her hands in her lap under the table. “Yeah. It’s what friends do, right?”

Gabriel chuckles. “Friends. Who would’ve thought you would be referring to us as friends after the third degree you gave me my first few weeks?”

“People can grow,” she argues lightly. Then, she stands up, much to Gabriel's sudden surprise.

“Where are you going?” he asks. “I just got here, and now you’re leaving?”

“I’ve been here almost three hours. I’m over staring at forgeries for the night,” she admits.

Grabbing the book from the table, she moves back over to the shelves. Sliding it into its rightful place, she turns and almost runs straight into Gabriel. He’s standing right there. She swallows, hoping he didn’t clock her sudden breathlessness.

“What now?”

“What do you mean?” she breathes.

Gabriel shrugs. “Not really tired. Ede and Ade are currently playing Fortnite in our room. Amira and Jia are otherwise occupied with some practice of something or other.”

“So I was your last resort?”

“No—” Gabriel stammers, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I mean, no—”

She lets him off the hook. “I can get the key to the food pantry.” She wets her lips briefly, then continues, “I've kind of got a craving for chocolate, and I’m pretty sure I saw Mrs. Lynn baking some brownies after dinner… for tomorrow. If you wanna…”

Gabriel shuffles back a little, giving her a look like she just said something he never expected to hear from her. “You wanna break the rules and sneak food out of the kitchen?”

She steps forward once. Gabriel’s eyes glance down, charting the lack of space between them. “I’m saying I wanna sneak a brownie out of the kitchen. It’s not exactly a white-collar crime.”

“Crime adjacent.”

“Yeah, gotta be careful. The headmaster might dock my points.”

“Wow, who have you been hanging with?” Gabriel smiles, squinting at her. “They’re a bad influence.”

“Huh,” she ponders sarcastically, looking him up and down briefly, tilting her head. “You happen to be around a lot, Avery.”

Gabriel's smile grows, a soft chuckle escaping under his breath. She can’t help but allow her own mouth to blossom into a smile, as much as she tries to keep the heat in her cheeks down. She wills herself to rein it in. Penelope doesn't want to give Gabriel Avery too much.

But who is she kidding? She’s a glutton for telling Gabriel way more than she’ll tell most people. Her innermost thoughts and feelings just seem to tumble out way too easily when he’s around. He knows things about her she would balk at if anyone else did, and yet, he’s proven his trustworthiness over the past two years.

“So?” she speaks up. “You up for not getting caught?”

“You had me at ‘I can get the key...’” he smiles conspiratorially.

She brushes past him, feeling him follow almost giddily behind her.

“You’re easily persuaded.”

“I reserve it for certain situations,” he volleys back.

She smiles to herself. Gabriel is often persuaded by her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Crimnastics meet combat training. It’s something Gabriel could definitely get behind, especially since defending oneself as a Crook is a vital part of the overall training plan. There were already a few times he’d actually would’ve benefited from combat in practice. Like that one time at Mercier when he was flying by the seat of his pants and taking guidance from Penelope over the AirPod shoved in his ear. The other time was when a few of the Nameless infiltrated the school after Penelope returned from finding her mom, hunting for personal files that named every child of a legacy and all of their school documents. He and his crew only managed to thwart them by the skin of their teeth. 

Safe to say, his mother and father weren’t exactly thrilled with him taking a stand against the Nameless yet again. But this, actual combat training, is something he can get behind.

Gabriel pulls the hem of his crimnastics sleeves down, standing with Ede and Ade as the rest of their class files in. The room is heavily padded, a large expanse of space that feels almost like the old gymnasium at the local rec center back where he grew up. He’d only managed to sneak into that place three or four times before the manager realized neither he nor his gran was a member. Safe to say, he wasn’t welcome back after that.

The ceilings are high, outfitted with overhead lights that make you squint if you look up. Blinking the glare away, Gabriel ponders how many times he’ll make an opponent stare up at those lights. Maybe he’s talking himself up more than he should, but it's all about pretending you know what you’re doing… right? Have confidence in yourself, as Miss Friedrich told him years ago.

“Good morning, crooklings.” Miss Friedrich smiles cunningly from her place on the mats. Dozens of eyes train on her, and the woman is exactly where she belongs: front and center. She radiates confidence, much like the first time she showed off crimnastics.

“I’m excited to finally bring back combat training to your teachings. As you all may know, the old combat instructor retired three and a half years ago, and since then we’ve been trying to find a replacement. Being able to defend yourself is one of the main pillars of being a successful crook—”

“Excuse me,” Ade raises his hand briefly before continuing, “what if you’re more comfortable behind a computer than actually… y’know, fighting people in person?”

Miss Friedrich zeroes in on Ade. “No matter where your comfort zone lies, Mr. Okoro, a mission rarely goes exactly to plan. When everything falls apart, you can’t rely on a keyboard and computer screen. You rely on your ability to keep yourself and your crew alive.” Their crimnastics teacher continues, addressing the rest of the room, “That’s why it’s imperative that, should you glean only one thing from this training, it is how to ensure your survival should it be needed.”

Something brushes Gabriel’s arm. Penelope, looking slightly out of breath, shuffles to a stop next to him, staring straight ahead as if she’s hoping no one will notice she’s late. That immediately intrigues him. What could Penelope Lockett have been doing to be late to class, of all people? If it were him, she’d probably be glaring a hole through him. Tell him it's inappropriate and ungrateful. He nudges her lightly.

She looks up briefly at him and shakes her head no. He’s even more intrigued now.

“For your first lesson, please pair up. We will learn basic hits and dodges,” Miss Friedrich announces with a sharp clap.

The room bursts into excited chatter and shuffling as people pair up.

“Partner?” he immediately asks Penelope, wanting an excuse to pry.

Penelope just nods before pushing forward onto the mats. He follows close behind.

They spread out onto an open space, leaving enough room between them for movement, while the rest of the class shuffles around trying to mimic Miss Friedrich’s opening stance. Some exhibit perfected forms, like Edgar, and others… not so much, like Jia. Someone nearby almost immediately trips over their own feet. Ade snorts from somewhere behind Gabriel.

Penelope settles into position across from him, and Gabriel realizes very quickly that he may have overestimated his own abilities here. She looks just as comfortable and ruthless as she did the first time he sparred with her, back when he was digging up dirt for their first Full Disclosure. Her shoulders are loose, her knees bent slightly, her hands raised but relaxed. It's worlds away from how he currently feels, but he mimics her anyway. Confidence is key, right?

“Slow at first,” Miss Friedrich calls out, moving between pairs. “Focus on form before speed. Speed will come later.”

Penelope moves fast. It's a quick jab toward his shoulder that Gabriel barely catches in time, jerking sideways as her knuckles brush the sleeve of his crimnastics suit anyway.

Okay. Right. She’s taking this entirely seriously.

He straightens again and copies the motion back toward her, moving noticeably slower than she’d done it. Penelope dodges easily, stepping around his arm with barely any effort before resetting in front of him again.

There’s the faintest raise of her eyebrow, silently judging him. He tips his head at the challenge.

Gabriel tries again, far more focused this time. He actually manages to hit her forearm lightly before she redirects his wrist away from her with an almost annoyed efficiency, sending him stumbling half a step too far forward. He catches his footing before fully embarrassing himself. Barely.

Around them, the room fills with the sounds of shoes squeaking against the mats and people laughing every time someone less skilled nearly topples over. Friedrich corrects someone’s footing sharply across the room. Edgar already looks entirely too entertained watching everyone struggle. 

Penelope stays locked on Gabriel, though. Her eyes narrow slightly as she watches his shoulders, his stance, tracking exactly where his weight shifts before he even moves. Gabriel suddenly understands why she trains when she’s stressed. There’s something terrifyingly controlled about her like this.

Then she swings again, and Gabriel blocks it this time, or at least, most of it. She’s just too fast. A second strike comes quicker, catching him lightly against his ribs.

“Ow,” he breathes out immediately. That definitely wasn’t in Miss Friedrich’s directions. Penelope pauses briefly as Gabriel rubs at his side dramatically. “A bit violent for the first lesson.”

The corner of her mouth twitches before flattening again. So she isn’t mad at him, as he had been starting to fear. He grins despite himself. That’s his Penelope, always keeping him on his toes. He decides a little teasing is appropriate.

“Late to class, Lockett?” Gabriel smirks, dodging to the right as her arm shoots toward him. “Your criminal beginnings are starting to show more and more these days.”

Penelope narrows her eyes and sneers at him before hitting out again, a strike he barely dodges. “Shut it, Avery.”

It's harsher than he expected. The bite in her voice makes him stop in his tracks and stand straight, completely opening himself up for an attack. Penelope's fist catches him square on the jaw, and fuck, it hurts. It’s not fun getting a fist to the face from the girl you maybe-kinda-like a lot while she throws you for a loop with her sudden coldness.

But apparently, actually connecting with his face knocks Penelope right out of her bad mood.

“Oh, my god.” Penelope gasps, covering her mouth as he bends over, rubbing his jaw to stop the sting. Then her hands are on his, pushing past his fingers, moving his chin gently as Miss Friedrich meanders over to analyze the damage. “Gabriel, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? How bad does it hurt?”

He tries to escape Penelope’s cold fingers, but her grip alone makes the rest of his jaw throb. Warmth rushes to the spot she hit.

“Mr. Avery,” Miss Friedrich acknowledges, stopping beside them. “You were not paying enough attention to how Penelope was positioned, and you let your guard down.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he manages through furrowed brows, pulling away from Penelope’s grasp. His mood is definitely not as light and airy as it had been at the start of the session.

“Always protect your head; it's the most important part to keep unblemished,” his instructor says, treating this like a routine teaching moment. Over her shoulder, he can see Edgar and Dorian laughing, pretending not to be peeking with amused glances his way. “Go get some ice from the nurse.”

“I’m fine—”

“Go,” Miss Friedrich directs. “You can continue practicing after you get aid.”

Gabriel’s jaw clenches, and he winces slightly at the soreness blooming under his chin. He moves, though, slightly put off by the spectacle, and Penelope is hot on his heels as he exits the room.

The fresh air cools him down a little as he trudges back out onto the lawn of Crookhaven, heading up the hill toward the main house.

“Gabriel, I’m sorry. I… I wasn’t thinking,” Penelope laments urgently, straining to keep up with his annoyed gait. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’d have to feel like you actually mean it to believe it,” he snides.

It's unkind, and he regrets the harsh response the exact second it exits his lips. He doesn't realize it has stopped her in her tracks until he no longer hears her lighter footfalls next to him. He halts, turning back around, his eyes instantly softening at her hurt expression.

“Sorry.”

They seem to be saying and doing everything wrong today.

“Miss Friedrich is right,” Penelope states softly, her tone deeply apologetic. “You need ice; otherwise it’s gonna swell and take longer to heal.”

“I can find my own way to the infirmary,” he says, giving her an out.

Penelope steps forward tentatively. “And be stuck with Nurse Mary for the next two hours as she watches over you for bleeding or death?”

“She’s not that bad.” 

He grimaces as he remembers when Jia got a cut from an old lock she was breaking into when the crew needed to infiltrate the new records room. Nurse Mary had made her stay all night to ensure there was no infection, and it had ended up being a minor scar with little to no bleeding in the first place. The older woman only gets so much company with all the highly skilled Crooks running about.

Penelope steps closer again, shrugging. “I still have the key to the kitchen pantry…”

And that’s how he finds himself twisting slightly on top of a barstool in the corner of the pantry, holding a bag of ice wrapped in a towel against his jaw while Penelope riffles through the packed-away snacks across from him.

“What do you want?” Penelope asks, analyzing a pack of biscuits before putting them back down with a grimace.

“Anything with nuts?”

“Packaged almonds?”

“Something sweet.”

Penelope riffles through a few more containers before standing up straight, holding a small candy bar. “There's a Snickers bar back here.” She turns it around in her hand as she meanders over to the other bar stool. “Still in date.”

She hands it over as she perches back on the other stool.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, holding the candy but not opening it yet. “Surprised you haven’t been found out yet.”

“No one pays enough attention to the keys they don’t deem worthy,” she states matter-of-factly. “Now, if I had the records room key, you best bet Mr. Sisman would be on the hunt.”

“You gonna spill about why you were late and on a rampage?” His interest from earlier is still thriving.

She sighs, avoiding his gaze as her face falls into an expression he cannot quite decipher. “I found a letter nailed next to the punching bag out at the stables this morning.”

Gabriel’s interest turns into sharp focus, studying her tense shoulders and her conflicted, furrowed brows. She briefly bites her lip.

“It was less than docile—”

“What was it?” he asks immediately, letting the ice pack fall to his lap to get a better look at her.

She swallows, wets her lips, and finally meets his eyes. Her knee hits his thigh as she turns on her stool to face him fully. “The Nameless sent me a picture of my mum. Spouted off a couple of concerning things. And then they ended it by saying to pass along to you that time is ticking.”

The blackmail. The money. His parents thought it smart to weaponize his burden against Penelope, using her mother to do it. Gabriel's face heats up, his throbbing jaw clenching. His hand squeezes the ice pack harder, his knuckles turning white.

“My parents have no right to bring you into this. Or your mum.” His jaw tightens so hard that the bruise there throbs fiercely again. “Like threatening you and her is somehow gonna make me suddenly hand over money I don’t have and go running back to them asking for forgiveness. As if I’d ever choose them over—”

“Gabriel,” Penelope interrupts quickly.

Gabriel quiets, blinks.

She shifts toward him even more fully now, her voice softer than before. “My mum’s safe. I forced my dad to let me call her to make sure. My dad and mum think the Nameless are just doing it to play with us. To get to you. To make you spiral and do something wild, like… join them, just to get them to stop.”

Gabriel lets out a humorless laugh, staring down at the melting ice bag in his hand. Helpless.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters after a second, “it’s working. Well,” he pauses, “not the joining part, but… making me want to spiral.”

He knows how much Penelope loves her mum, and the threat to her affects him deeply, especially after all those months of not knowing her mother's fate. His parents will do anything these days to get to him because he doesn't want them. He doesn't want to get to know them in the way they’d always hoped.

Penelope's hand closes over his, holding the ice. He meets her gaze, and she's much closer than he noticed a moment ago. She pushes his hand back up to his jaw, his face flinching as the sudden coolness hits his wound again.

“Thanks for caring.” She smiles, her hand still covering his. Then she pulls his hand back slightly and peers at his jaw. He could kiss her… lean over and remove the short space between them. He really could. “It’s already looking better than it would without the ice. And I am sorry again—”

“Isn’t the first. Won’t be the last.” he waves away her guilt vocally.

“I know. I still am,” she sighs. “I think after the letter and being late and just…” she swallows, “—all of it, I was mad, but not at you. I wasn't even really thinking when I threw the punch.”

“You throw a good absentminded punch.”

Penelope smiles softly at that before pushing his hand and the ice back to his jaw gently. “My mum always said I should know how to protect myself, even passively.”

“Smart woman.”

Penelope’s smile fades, her eyes dropping to his lips before quickly darting back up to meet his gaze. The sudden shift in air makes them both pull back, clearing their throats.

“I uh… I’d better get ready for, uh, afternoon classes.” Penelope nods quickly, leaping from her stool and backing away toward the door. “Keep icing it through the day. It may be a little discolored tomorrow, but hopefully, it shouldn’t be long before you’re good as new.”

“Cool,” he smiles weakly.

She sucks in a sharp breath, gives a brief wave, turns, and bolts through the pantry door to the kitchen, leaving him to watch after her.

Great. Now he has to sneak out of the kitchen alone without anyone thinking he’s the real criminal in all this.

~~~~~~~~~~

Crooxeat this year is less eventful than years past. After their long weekend break to return home and spend time with their families, Gabriel and his friends are finally heading back to school. Luckily, his gran seemed to keep fairly well while he was away. The lights of their apartment were still on, and there was food in the fridge. It makes him feel marginally better that she is still doing okay without him, and marginally worse that she can do so without him.

But coming back to Crookhaven meant leaving that quiet reality behind and stepping straight back into the looming deadline that festers in the back of his mind.

“Infiltration. As we’ve learned over the years, my little crooklings, it is one of the most important tasks in any mission. Getting through locked doors, past cameras and watchful eyes,” Miss Jericho says, walking slowly between the library tables and deliberately making eye contact with each student. “To master it is to ensure success for your mission.”

Gabriel rolls his coin between his fingers, elbow resting lazily on the table, but he listens actively.

“This week's competition for eight crooked points is to break into my glass box before the end of the week.” Miss Jericho gestures to the small glass box resting on her podium. It doesn't look like anything special, but it houses a small, folded piece of paper. Intriguing.

“What’s on the paper?” Dorian calls out with interest.

“Yeah,” Ade chimes in right after, “some secret passcode to a program we can use in the end-of-year assessment… or like, more crooked points?”

“Sorry, Dorian. Ade. I am not at liberty to disclose that information,” Miss Jericho smirks. “Only the crookling who manages to get into the glass box will find out.”

“Easy,” Jia speaks up from closer to the front. “How hard can it actually be to get into a glass box? I’ll have it done before the end of the day.”

“Ahh, ahhh, ahh,” Miss Jericho interrupts with a sharp grin. “This is infiltration. Getting into the box is one thing. Doing it without being caught by me, since I will be going everywhere with said box, is another. I’ll even sleep beside it to protect it.”

Groans echo through the room at the prospect of having to distract Miss Jericho. The woman is already a terrifyingly keen observer of her students' goings-on, and now she will be the ultimate overseer, preventing them from getting anywhere near the prize.

But Gabriel wants those points. They’d get him ahead of Dorian and Edgar, placing him just under Penelope, who had won the Crimnastics combat competition three weeks ago and gained a whole ten points to hit the top of the leaderboard. They may be friends now, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get a rush out of trying to beat her. It’s healthy competition.

Penelope seems to have the exact same thoughts running through her head. When he glances over his shoulder, she’s already staring at him with a look of pure superiority. He sends a playful glare back her way before focusing back up front as Miss Jericho concludes the lesson.

Let the competition begin.

Ade and Ede fail spectacularly when they try to distract Whisper and Miss Jericho during dinner outside one evening. The Brothers Crim manage to hack into the school's intercom system and start blaring heavy EDM. Their teachers go into immediate fix mode, Whisper and Jericho rushing up the back steps to huddle with Mr. Velasquez and Mr. Sisman.

The chaos gives Ade just enough time to sneak over to the table where Miss Jericho’s glass box sits. Too bad she is already entirely aware that it was a distraction. The second Ade's fingers brush the box, the glass completely disintegrates in his hands, and a hidden purple smoke bomb detonates right in his face. It’s a ploy glass box.

Ade has to take about four intense showers just to get the dye off his skin.

Dorian and Edgar do no better, easily getting caught when they attempt a brazen, daylight grab during class one afternoon. Miss Jericho was ready, blasting a loud foghorn directly in their ears and making both Legacies nearly jump out of their skins. Gabriel swears he saw actual tears in Delacombe’s eyes.

And Gabriel even picks Penelope’s brain, pestering her on purpose about how she thinks she’ll go about her own attempt. She gives him nothing but a smirk.

By mid-week, Gabriel is sitting with Amira and Jia in the library, listening to the intense back-and-forth as his friends dissect the security measures. He needs to jump into action before he totally misses out on an opportunity. 

“It’s not a standard box,” Amira mutters, tapping a finger on the mahogany table. “There are biometric alarms built into the glass panes themselves. They don't just alert Jericho if someone touches the glass, but track proximity. If you even graze the glass, it triggers.”

“But that’s only in the panes of the glass,” Jia counters, her eyes lighting up as she maps out the flaw in her head. She leans in closer, dropping her voice. “The proximity sensors map the outer walls. But if you lift the box delicately straight off the base from the corners, just enough to do something like slip a thin wire underneath, you can grab the contents without ever touching the actual glass structure. It's about making a gap, an opportunity, not actually stealing the box.”

In the end, Jia is right and performs the steal before Gabriel can even come up with his own plan. Well, slightly right. She proved to be the ultimate winner of the eight crooked points. It just took her a little longer than the end of the first day.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gabriel gets paired with Villette for this year's Deception competition, Full Disclosure, and he really shouldn’t be shocked that the girl is so ruthless in her pursuit to uncover his deepest woe. It’s only a day after a full week of her following him, interrogating the people he talked to, and apparently breaking into the records room with a passkey that Amira nicked off of one of the other gardeners that he realizes she’s caught onto him.

“You want the money from the end-of-year assessment,” she announces softly as they sit on the hot seat, hooked up to the heart rate monitors in the giant glass box in the center of the room. Everyone around them is quiet, watching to see who will win against the other.

“What?” He tries to chuckle it away, even as the monitor gives a small, betraying jump beside him. “Everyone wants the money from the end-of-year assessment. That’s kind of the whole point of offering it to a school full of crooks.”

“No,” Villette doesn’t even blink. “Everyone wants it. You need it.”

Gabriel’s smile slips for half a second, and his fingers twitch against the metal table. The monitor catches it before he can pretend otherwise, the line jumping just enough for a few whispers to ripple outside the glass. Villette’s eyes flick to Mr. Khan, then back to him.

She can’t know, right? He hasn’t told anyone other than Penelope, and Penelope wouldn’t… right?

He hates the glass, the lights, and the way every single twitch of his pulse is suddenly everyone else’s entertainment. He hates even more that Villette sees it. That she’s been apparently seeing it all week.

“Need is dramatic,” he says, forcing his face into something that feels close enough to casual. “I prefer motivated.”

“You don’t want it like a prize,” she says slowly. “You don’t talk about what you’d buy. You don’t brag about what you’d do with it. You don’t even look excited when people mention winning it.”

Gabriel forces a shrug. “Maybe I’m just humble—”

“No one thinks that.”

A laugh ripples faintly from outside the glass box. Edgar and Dorian. The line on the monitor spikes again as his eye twitches. Villette sees it, and of course she does. Everyone probably does.

“You lied about why you want the money,” Villette says, leaning back. “That’s my answer.”

For a second, Gabriel just stares at her.

Because there’s more in her face. Something she isn’t saying out loud. Her eyes belie her relaxed body language, keying him in to the fact that she knows. Maybe not all of it, not yet, but enough to know it isn’t greed that sits with him. It’s fear.

But she doesn’t say that part out loud… at least not yet, in front of all the prying, curious eyes. It surprises him a little. Villette is nothing if not ruthless and precise when in a competition.

“Five points to Miss Harkness.” Mr. Khan nods in appreciation toward the small blonde, whose eerie smile widens in satisfaction, and various claps sound out. Gabriel tries not to rip the monitor off his hand and neck, doing his best not to show how completely rattled he is by the fact that she just read him like an open book. “Congrats to our two winners this year, Villette and Dorian. I’ll be interested to see if someone can knock Miss Harkness off her winning streak.”

Gabriel grabs his bag, ignoring the jeers from Edgar and Dorian a few seats away and bypassing his friends' concerned glances as he gets out of that room as fast as his legs can carry him.

“Gabester!” His nickname is called from behind as he strides through the building.

“I’m fine.”

Ade rushes up, Jia hot on his heels, with the others following not far behind. “Mate. Come on, talk to us. What happened back there?”

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Jia argues. “Not when you’re doing everything you can to escape.”

He turns, realizing all of them are right there, staring at him like he’s just gonna blurt it out in the middle of a now-crowding hallway. Instead, he pivots and heads for the Specularium. They follow exactly as he expects.

Inside, the room feels smaller than it has in the past, all of them spanning the available space. His friends look to him for answers, needing to know why he’s so deeply bothered by something that would seem so trivial to anyone else.

“You want the money not for you…” 

Villette’s voice cuts through the quiet room. Gabriel looks up, startled, as she slips out from the shadows near the doorway, silent as a ghost. “But because you’re being forced to,” she finishes.

Gabriel’s jaw clenches. His friends' tense, questioning faces are duplicated and triplicated in the surrounding mirrors, making it feel as if dozens of eyes are staring at him from every angle. The lights do trippy things to their reflections. He meets Penelope’s eyes in a mirror as she stands behind him. She gives him a small, encouraging nod.

“My parents… they’re, uh, blackmailing me,” he admits, much to his friends’ apparent astonishment. “They want me to get them two hundred and fifty thousand pounds—”

“A quarter of a million pounds?” Jia blurts out.

Ede scratches the back of his neck nervously. “How are you supposed to get two hundred and fifty thousand pounds?”

Gabriel lets out something close to a laugh, but it lands wrong. “Win the assessment. It’s the best chance I have at getting that kind of money without straight-up stealing it from someone.”

Amira’s eyes narrow. “And if you don’t?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? What if he doesn't? It's the one thought he’s been trying not to think about too clearly, because thinking about it makes it real. It makes all of it real—his parents’ letter, the deadline, the neat, ugly threat threaded between the lines. The reality that Crookhaven and all of its students would be left at the mercy of the Nameless. At the mercy of his parents.

Gabriel doesn’t answer fast enough.

Villette steps further into the room, answering for him, though her eyes stay locked on him the entire time. “Then whatever they’re holding over him doesn’t stay private.”

Gabriel’s stomach twists. Penelope’s gaze flicks to him in the mirror, steady but incredibly tense. Gabriel looks down at his shoes.

“They said if I don’t get them the money by the deadline, they’ll give the Criminal Network everything the Nameless have on Crookhaven,” his voice comes out quieter than he wants. “Names. Records. Where the school is located. Who’s here. Whom everyone is connected to.”

The Specularium goes completely still. Even Ade doesn’t speak.

Gabriel swallows, forcing himself to look up again. “So it’s not just me they’re threatening. It’s all of us.”

For a second, no one moves.

Amira scoffs, “Your parents are unbelievable.”

Then Ede says, much quieter this time, “How are we supposed to get two hundred and fifty thousand pounds?”

Gabriel pauses, blinking. “We?”

His friends all stare at him with varying looks of offense.

“You think we wouldn’t help?” Ade states quietly, his tone so unlike the loud, boisterous hacker he’s been for years. “We’re a crew, Gabester. If one of us is in trouble, all of us are in trouble. We succeed together.”

“Ade’s right,” Amira says. “We stick together regardless of the stakes. What's your plan other than winning the end-of-year assessment?”

“I, uh… I don’t really have any other plan than winning the money. It’s the best chance I’ve got to get a massive chunk of it. I figured I'd try to figure out the rest as I go.”

“Why didn't you tell us?” Ede adds, a little hurt.

Gabriel shifts on his feet, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and staring down at his shoes. “I didn’t want to drag you all into my family drama. It’s my burden, and it’s a lot to ask of you.”

“The money?” Ede asks again.

Gabriel meets their gazes, his eyes flickering to Penelope’s briefly as if the sight of her gives him an immediate surge of comfort. “It’s a lot of money for anyone. I can’t ask you all to give up your share of the prize if we were to win. I can’t ask that of you.”

“So you’d rather work with what crew? Edgar and Dorian? Because I’d love to see those two care about your predicament.”

Gabriel scoffs, meeting Amira’s hand-on-hip stance. “Never.”

“Then we’re all you’ve got, Avery,” Jia states with a shrug. “Sure, the prize money would be nice, but not if it means something terrible happens because you couldn't hand it over to the Nameless. We care. You just have to let us.”

“Penelope,” Amira suddenly cuts in, turning her sharp gaze around. “You seem pretty easygoing with this new information.”

Gabriel focuses on Penelope in the mirror. The Legacy stands straight, her head held high despite Amira's pointed, suspicious tone.

“Even if Gabriel hadn’t told me, I would’ve found out one way or another,” Penelope states smoothly. She doesn't explicitly disclose the personal threat she received from his parents, but for Gabriel, the weight of her words is crystal clear.

Amira doesn't look entirely satisfied with that answer, her eyes lingering.

“Well, then we better start thinking of ways to make up the money, regardless of whether we win the assessment or not,” Jia supplies, easily breaking the rising tension.

Villette finally speaks once more from the edge of the room. “There is a lot of money to make up.”

“Brainstorm session in the garden?” Ede suggests, perking up. The quiet of the greenery is always his escape, and right now, they all need one.

Gabriel smiles weakly as his friends begin to shuffle out of the Specularium. Amira shoots him one last pointed look before she departs, and Penelope brushes by him softly, her fingers giving his forearm a brief, reassuring squeeze.

He follows his friends out into the corridor, a profound wave of relief washing over him. He is entirely grateful they are so willing to stand by him. Grateful, above all, that he has them.

~~~~~~~~~~

“ATTENTION!”

The school’s intercom suddenly blares to life, the feedback echoing sharply off the cafeteria ceiling.

“ATTENTION!”

“What’s going on?” Ade asks from across the table, glancing around as the chatter in the room instantly dies down.

Students in the breakfast line freeze mid-step, and people eating swallow their food in one cautious gulp. Penelope moves agilely through a group of students who have stopped dead in the middle of the cafeteria, her signature headphones resting securely around her neck as she slips into the empty seat next to Gabriel.

Gabriel nods in a tired greeting, his fingers restlessly rolling his lucky coin over his knuckles, a nervous habit he can never quite shake when he's sleep-deprived. Staying up until 1:46 a.m. in the art room to finish their forgery for Mr. Palombo's latest assignment was definitely not his smartest move, but he figures that’s what coffee is for… right? He takes another quick gulp from his cup.

The intercom blares again: “Please make your way to a projector for a Crook-wide announcement. Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen…”

As the clock starts counting down, Amira sits up straight and leans over the table. “Should we be worried?”

“I doubt it,” Gabriel supplies, even though he’s got no clue if that’s actually true. Not really. Amira shoots him a skeptical look before turning her attention to Penelope.

“Don’t look at me,” Penelope remarks, her brows tightly furrowed.

“Your dad didn’t give you a heads-up?” Jia counters.

“My father is on a business trip,” Penelope replies flatly. “So no. He didn’t.”

“…Two. One.”

The projector above the cafeteria doors blinks to life. Gabriel turns in his seat to stare at the display, which projects a crisp, wide shot of Caspian Lockett at a desk.

“Another deepfake?” Ede questions with trepidation as Caspian's familiar, commanding voice greets the students of Crookhaven.

“I hope you are all having a fine morning. I’m coming to you live from Rome, Italy—”

“Italy?” Penelope murmurs under her breath, but not low enough to escape Gabriel's ears. He glances at her with sudden curiosity. She leans in closer to his side, her voice barely a whisper. “He told me he was going to Switzerland.”

Gabriel shares a quick, knowing look with her, but their attention is instantly pulled back to the screen.

“The time has come. One I know many of you have been anticipating since the very beginning of the school year,” Caspian announces, a charismatic smirk playing on his lips. “The Heist. Your end-of-year assessment, where you will prove your skills on a highly secret mission involving espionage.”

Excited murmurs instantly break out across the cafeteria, and more voices float in through the open doors from the hallway. Gabriel glances back at his friends briefly before focusing back on their headmaster. Caspian is smiling that distinct, utterly satisfied smile, clearly enjoying the chaos he has just unleashed.

“The prize of one hundred thousand pounds is at stake, and you may be asking yourselves, for what?” A look of immense satisfaction crosses Caspian Lockett's face before he continues. “A priceless, three-million-pound emerald necklace that the Crooked Network saved from the clutches of a criminal organization out of South America twenty years ago.”

The murmurs grow louder, sparking an intense wave of interest among all the students in the vicinity. Gabriel can’t even begin to comprehend that much money, let alone a single necklace being worth such a fortune.

What he could do with a fraction of that money for his gran…

Penelope nudges him sharply in the side. He snaps out of his thoughts, tuning back in as Caspian explains the mechanics of the trial.

“This necklace, along with two perfect replicas used in the original mission, is going to be on display at the twentieth anniversary celebration, alongside a few other highly important relics from various other Crooked Network operations. It will take place at a masquerade gala for active and retired Crooked agents in Rome, Italy. This is a perfect opportunity for a skilled, crooked crew to nick the real emerald necklace right under the watchful gaze of some of our best agents and security personnel in the field. If you can do that, the prize is yours.”

Gabriel meets Penelope’s gaze. A silent understanding. This prize money would be the ultimate lifeline to pay off his parents’ blackmail.

“Crews must consist of at least five crooks; if you cannot find five, you are disqualified from traveling to Rome. Once you arrive, you will be put up in a few hotels around the city. From there, it’s entirely up to you and your crew to come up with a plan of action to infiltrate the masquerade, steal the necklace, and get away undetected. How you decide to do that is up to you. You’ll have a week and a half to travel and conjure up your plans.”

Instantly, students begin scraping their chairs back, gathering in tight clusters.

Caspian Lockett wraps up the announcement with a sharp smirk. “We will be waiting in anticipation to see what the next generation of Crooks comes up with. Happy planning.”

The video feed cuts out, and the entire cafeteria erupts into absolute chaos. Gabriel turns around fully to face the table.

“We’re a crew, right?” Jia asks, her eyes darting around the group.

“Yes,” Ade says with absolute conviction. “We move as one.”

Amira nods, confirming the headcount. “A crew of six—”

“Seven,” Penelope corrects smoothly.

Beside her, Villette sits up a bit straighter in her chair, a look of quiet appreciation crossing her features.

“Seven,” Amira corrects herself, a note of careful calculation in her voice. “At least we all have something completely different to offer. A master locksmith, a crimnastics pro, two genius hackers, a pickpocket, a legacy eavesdropper and forger, and… whatever Villette has going on.”

“Wallflower,” Villette supplies cryptically.

“Right. A wallflower.” Amira smiles. “We’ve got all bases covered.”

“Well, some more than others,” Jia jests, throwing a playful sneer toward the twins. Ade and Ede collectively throw a playful glare right back at her.

“We have to win.” Gabriel leans his forearms heavily onto the table, locking eyes with each of his friends one by one with a fierce, pointed intensity. “We have to.”

As his eyes travel around the circle, his friends' expressions shift, clarity washing over them. They look at him and then at Penelope, fully understanding his underlying meaning. They all know the alternative. If they don't manage to secure the funds to stop the blackmail, there's no telling what devastating consequences the Nameless will unleash upon all of Crookhaven. Everything their peers hold dear. Their safety.

They have to win. No matter what.

~~~~~~~~~~

The beauty of attending a school like Crookhaven is that travel is entirely all-expenses-paid, funded by alums and the Crooked Network. The train ride is pretty smooth aside from the three transfers, and Ade being just a little too wired the last long leg while the rest of them tried to get some rest. But they make it safely to Rome in under a day.

Gabriel allows himself a massive, full-body stretch once he’s finally out on the train platform, his muscles sore from being scrunched up in a train seat for far too long. His shoulder rolls back with a satisfying crack right as something soft but solid bumps squarely into the back of his calves.

He turns quickly, finding a smirking Penelope standing right behind him, headphones over her ears, the strap of her dark cyan duffle hooked loosely over one shoulder like she absolutely hadn’t just swung it into him on purpose.

“Sorry,” she says, her eyes roving down him briefly. “Didn’t see you there.”

Gabriel narrows his eyes. Penelope’s smirk only grows before she promptly walks away, her ponytail swishing in her wake and her duffle bouncing once against her hip. Gabriel just rolls his eyes before picking his own duffle back up, following her along with the rest of the students from Crookhaven.

The streets are crowded with tourists and locals alike, people going about their late-evening routines—walking up to restaurants, looking for open outdoor tables to eat fresh pasta, and drinking large glasses of wine. Gabriel partly wishes he were already eighteen so he could partake legally, but he's still a few months out. He just gets to imagine what it’d be like to sit on a cobblestone street corner with a glass of red and his crew on a future mission. 

His gran had let him have a glass or two in his time, and he thinks he could easily get a liking for it if he had a bit more access to it. I mean, he’s no stranger to having a drink. He’s gotten drunk a handful of times with the local schoolboys back in London, though he isn't exactly eager to repeat the experience. Still, he can admit a cheap beer helps take the edge off sometimes.

Gabriel follows behind Ade and Amira, keeping his eyes peeled for Mr. Khan’s head as it bobs and weaves through the crowded stone streets and sidewalks. They split off early from a few other groups of Crookhaven students. At first, they looked like a whole class on a massive school trip, but now they feel like a smaller, stealthier subset of students on an excursion into a foreign city.

It's his first time out of England, and he quite likes the world he's found himself in. He genuinely hopes this isn’t the last time he gets to explore a far-off historical city with people he actually likes.

Mr. Khan finally pauses a few minutes later at a steep street corner. One road heads down a smooth, tempting incline, while the other leads up a daunting, steep cobblestone road. Gabriel prays for the former.

“Please gather.” Mr. Khan surveys the fifteen of them, three different Crookhaven crews assigned to his supervision for the next two weeks. Gabriel squeezes in right behind Ede and Penelope, Amira pressing up onto her tiptoes next to him. “Now, we’re getting close to our humble hotel. Please be aware of this street corner in case you need to find your way back and do not have access to typical navigation devices. We are now going to climb—” a collective groan ripples through the students. “—to reach our destination. Please keep up. Once we get to the hotel, I’ll check everyone in and hand out your room keys.”

Gabriel looks up to the right, exactly where he was hoping they wouldn’t have to go. He sighs, hiking his own duffle higher on his shoulder and starting up after his friends. As they’re about to hit the first incline, he clocks Penelope shifting the strap of her duffle from one shoulder to the other. It’s a subtle movement, barely anything to most, but the bag is heavy enough that it drags her jumper slightly off one shoulder.

Gabriel sneaks up beside her and reaches for the shorter handles before he can overthink it.

Penelope jumps and turns, glaring defensively before realizing it’s only him.

“What are you doing?” she asks, clutching her strap tighter.

“I’ve got it.”

Penelope raises a brow. “You’ve got it?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re offering?”

Gabriel shrugs, trying to look like he doesn’t care either way, even though he very much does. “I mean, unless you want to lug it up the hill.”

“Are you saying I can’t?”

“No,” he says quickly, then softens it with a smirk. “I’m saying I can.”

Her eyes narrow.

Gabriel shifts his own duffle higher on his shoulder and holds out his free hand anyway. “Come on. Let me be noble for once. It’ll be good for my reputation.”

“Your reputation is beyond saving.”

“Fine, think of it as charity work.”

Penelope stares at him for another second, clearly debating whether to argue on sheer principle. Then she exhales softly through her nose and relinquishes her grip on her duffle.

It’s heavier than it looks. What the hell is she carrying in this thing? Spare audio transmitters? A backup set of heavy-duty headphones?

How can she even fit that much?

Gabriel swallows his immediate grunt of surprise, instantly locking his elbow so she won't see his arm dip under the unexpected weight. Penelope gives him a knowing, incredibly smug look as she adjusts her newly freed collar and takes the first steep incline with a sudden, effortless bounce in her stride.

By the time they finally reached the top, Gabriel’s lungs are just starting to burn, and he was thoroughly questioning his definition of "charity work." Penelope just smirks smugly at him when she plucks the strap back from him and lugs it back onto her shoulder.

Fine. He won't offer again… maybe. 

The hotel is a historic, narrow building tucked neatly between an old stone church and a bustling trattoria. Mr. Khan stands by the entrance, counting heads as the fifteen exhausted students file through the heavy wooden doors.

The lobby was quaint and now bustled with the chatter of Crookhaven students. Right at the front of the check-in desk, Edgar and Dorian are already leaning carelessly against the counter, looking entirely too polished and awake for the nearly twenty-hour travel day of train transfers. Edgar catches Gabriel’s eye and offers a slow, patronizing smirk, while Dorian lazily flips a silver coin across his knuckles. Gabriel’s eyes track the seamless, quiet roll of the metal. Great, those two are staying here too.

Gabriel decides to ignore them, waiting out the blur of Mr. Khan reiterating the general rules and handing out the room keys. Gabriel and the twins drag their bags into the tiny lift, heading up to a cramped fifth-floor room with shuttered windows that open onto the low hum of the street, while the others vanish to their own rooms.

Only a little while later, once they freshen up, do they head back downstairs in search of real food and the rest of the crew.

~~~~~~~~~~

By the time the crew drifts back down to regroup, a heavy dinner and a full day of train travel have taken all remaining sense of consciousness out of them. Most of them lounge lazily back against the couches surrounding the small coffee table they managed to snag just off the main lobby.

Ade is already nodding off on Jia’s shoulder, and Jia ruthlessly pushes his head back every time it lurches downward. Ede is basically asleep in his own palm, his chin perched heavily in its grasp against the arm of the chair. Penelope’s side leans precariously into Gabriel’s, his arm draped lazily across the back of the couch behind her. It is totally unplanned, accidental, and yet her heart, in all its tiredness, flutters erratically.

He doesn’t shift away either. Rather, she thinks he leans into it… maybe, even with his eyes shut and his head tilted back against the couch’s edge. A tiny, intrusive thought pops into her head to trace her fingertip down his Adam’s apple, exposed as it is. It is incredibly hard to ignore, but she manages. She doesn’t want to disturb him.

Amira pads back over a few moments later, clutching a notepad she swiped from the stationery table near the check-in desk. “The gala is at the Palazzo Colonna, so after breakfast tomorrow we should do some recon,” Amira says, looking up from her notes. 

Only incoherent murmurs are returned. Penelope doesn’t have enough energy to acknowledge.

“Hello?” Amira presses, looking around at their sluggish, entirely checked-out demeanors.

“I’d like to sleep for at least a day, please,” Jia mumbles to the ceiling.

“You can sleep after we steal a three million pound necklace.” Amira counters bluntly.

“Lemme sleep for a week,” Ade groans, his head lulling to the side until Jia again shoves it off her shoulder.

Penelope startles when Gabriel’s arm suddenly slips off the back of the couch, draping heavily over her shoulders and briefly catching her hair against the fabric. Gabriel jolts, pulling his arm back to his lap as his face flushes. He shoots her a quick, apologetic look, swallowing hard.

Penelope shifts slightly, trying everything in her power not to look like she is pressed right up against him. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately for her—Amira plops down in the remaining space on her other side, keeping her pinned. Gabriel doesn't move away, though, and she definitely clocks that.

“Sorry, Amira.” Gabriel yawns, rolling his stiff shoulders. “We just need some sleep. I promise we’ll be ready in the morning. Breakfast, then recon.”

“Fine,” Amira sighs, her own voice suddenly sounding just as heavy as theirs. “But we need to start as soon as we can. We have like twelve other teams we’re up against.”

With a collective, exhausted groan, the quiet lull of the lobby is finally broken. Jia stands up first, dumping a half-asleep Ade off her shoulder. Ede blinks awake, automatically adjusting his glasses. The rest of the crew begins to drift away, the twins following Jia toward the lifts, murmuring quiet goodnights. Villette, true to form, slips away into the shadows without anyone noticing.

Penelope stays back for just a minute, untangling her jacket zipper from a loose thread on the cushion. When she looks up, Gabriel is still sitting there, watching her with a quiet, unreadable expression.

The air between them feels suddenly charged. The phantom weight of his arm still lingers on her shoulders, and the press of his side is a distant ghost against hers.

“Goodnight, Avery,” she says softly, offering a small, tired smile as she lifts herself reluctantly.

Gabriel clears his throat, his posture straightening slightly. “Night, Lockett. See you at breakfast.”

She turns and follows Amira toward the lifts, her heart doing that strange, erratic flutter all over again, entirely unconvinced that sleep is going to be the thing to cure it.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is one thing to look at a map of central Rome; it is another to realize the Palazzo Colonna is so massive it practically swallows its own neighborhood.

Gabriel’s crew has spent the last hour ducking through the narrow, shaded trench of Via della Pilotta down below, watching jet-lagged tourists shuffle into a sluggish line for the gallery while Ade and Ede discreetly snap photos of the guarded entrances and service gates. Realizing they are drawing too much attention from the street level, the group hikes up the slope to the Piazza del Quirinale. Now, crowded around a stone bench on the hill just outside the upper palace complex, they discuss what they know in the late-morning sun.

Gabriel perches on the stone railing across from his crew, sunglasses pushed up on his nose. Ede leans back against the rail next to him, tapping away on his tablet, trying to match their street-level photos with a satellite map of the rooftops.

“Wow, it’s huge,” Jia remarks, her voice laced with a trace of disbelief.

“It’s a lot,” Amira agrees, squinting across at the upper garden walls from their current vantage point and at the sheer scale of the private estate.

Ade continues talking, his mouth full of a pastry he and Ede just had to have from a little cafe down the street. He keeps one hand hovering under his chin, but flakes of crust fall onto his checked shirt anyway. “Soh, we foun’ the place,” he says, his cheeks full enough that Villette leans away from him and into Penelope’s side on pure instinct. “Sure as ever’one else has no doubt. Ede and I counted like three cameras on one span of the front gallery gate alone—”

Jia gives him a flat look.

Ade swallows hard, clearly annoyed at being silently judged. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That look was not nothing.”

Ede finishes for his brother, seamlessly cutting off Jia and Ade’s back-and-forth. “So, front gate’s gonna be a no for entry.”

“What about a window?” Amira questions from the bench, passing a small cup of espresso over to Penelope. “I could do it easily. There are a bunch of places to get high and climb in—”

“Nope,” Ede interrupts. It’s always a sight to see how much Ede comes out of his shell when discussing the technical aspects. He pushes up his glasses, tone confident. “Commercial-grade Optex laser scan detectors.”

Gabriel smirks. “Explain.”

Ede holds up his tablet to Gabriel, and Gabriel squints against the late morning glare to focus on the image Ede zooms in on. “To the naked eye, the windows look completely ripe for entry. But the Crooked Network has mounted infrared beam curtains on the outside of every single window pane. If a bird flies too close, the system ignores it because of the algorithmic pulse count. But if a human hand tries to jimmy the latch, it breaks the continuous beam and trips a silent alarm—”

Ade speaks around another mouthful, “‘Prolly at the main security ‘ub they na doubt panned—”

Penelope leans right over Villette to shut Ade’s jaw sharply. “Chew with your mouth closed.” Ade looks offended, but he shuts his mouth and chews.

“—and the main front gate on the night of the event,” Ede finishes. “We definitely aren't entering through the windows. Even if we tried a localized EMP to black out a single window frame, the sudden drop in data voltage would trigger a system-wide fail-secure loop. It freezes every electronic lock in the palace and sends an immediate alert. Security would be on that immediately to check.”

Amira’s shoulders slouch, and she shifts back onto her hands on the bench.

"What about dropping in from above?" Villette suggests.

Ade chews his pastry and points up toward the palace roofline with a sticky finger, but he doesn't manage to get anything out before Villette continues.

"The Palazzo gardens climb right up the Quirinale hill. The slope practically gives us a ramp to the upper roof terrace. We could vault Amira up easily, then rope down into the inner courtyards."

Ede shakes his head, tapping his screen to bring up a wide-angle layout of the roof and surrounding roofs. "The Network isn't stupid. Ade is right.”

A few of them narrow their eyes before understanding Ade’s frantic pointing and Ede’s translation of what his brother can’t say around the food.

“They know the gardens and surrounding buildings make the roof vulnerable. They’ve lined the roof perimeter around this whole block with microwave barriers—invisible volumetric walls. You step over the ledge, you disrupt the field, and security knows your exact height, weight, and stature before your feet even touch the tiles."

"So the roof is a no-go. Great.” Gabriel notes, crossing his arms, staring over at the outside walls.

“Anything we can do to infiltrate from below?” Penelope suggests. “Rome is known for its underground passageways and tunnels. There have to be one or two for a palace built that long ago.”

Villette adds, straight-faced and monotone, “They had to get away somehow when their subjects wanted blood.”

A few of them chuckle, the natural response when Villette makes a sarcastic comment while remaining totally deadpan and unamused. Ede looks at her wistfully.

Ade shrugs, brushing pastry crumbs off his chest. “We could look into it. But wouldn’t they be expecting that? Old Roman brickwork conducts moisture. If they have seismic sensors or geophones planted in the foundation walls…” Ade nods like it’s all a given. “—which the Network absolutely would install for an event like this, they'll pick up the acoustic vibrations of a drill or a crowbar opening up grates or old tunnel gates long before we even breach the complex.”

“I think they’ll be expecting a lot of things,” Amira states.

“Regardless, we need to go through everything we possibly can to ensure we have the right plan,” Penelope states firmly. “Especially if we want to beat the rest of the crews. If the perimeters are locked down tight by the automated security systems, then we just have to find the right vulnerability. The one that will be least conducive to capture.”

Gabriel clasps his hands on his lap, the heels of his sneakers knocking lightly against the stone pillars holding up the barrier he sits atop. He glances to his left again, staring at the tall wall that separates them from just a mere corner of the palace. “It feels like it could all be a trap waiting for us to take chances and make mistakes. They’ll no doubt have strong security and will try to be one step ahead of us. Honestly, the less we sneak, the better. Sneaking draws attention, and attention at a party like this, with skilled Crooks about, is our enemy.”

Jia stands up, having been the most silent throughout their brainstorming. “How do most people get invited to an event like this?”

Amira shifts upward, looking confused at the back of Jia’s head as the master locksmith moves in next to Ede, peering over at his screen while the tech genius continues to study the specs of the palace exterior.

“Text blast,” Ade supplies before chugging some coffee that Penelope hands over from their assortment. 

Jia shoots the younger twin a short glare. “Not for a formal affair like this with people of this caliber. You go professional. Handcrafted, mailed invitations.”

“And?”

“We get one,” Jia says matter-of-factly.

Gabriel ruminates on that for a moment before a smirk spreads across his face. “We get an invite.”

“I mean,” Jia starts, “an invitation to the Gala is gonna be the simplest and least complicated way to bypass the outer perimeter security with the least chances of detection. No need for infiltration on a mass scale, no tunnels that might already be booby-trapped, or rooftops that will already be surveilled.”

“I thought the front gate was a no,” Villette adds, looking between the twins.

Ede shrugs, zooming out on his tablet to show the main entrance to the garden courtyard. “Normally, yes. If you try to hop it, the optical sensors flag you. But on the night of the gala, the main gates will be open for arrivals. The security team will funnel everyone through a single physical checkpoint to check invites. On that night… it actually might be our best chance.”

“Where are we gonna get an invite? Those were probably sent out weeks ago,” Penelope responds, an unamused chuckle escaping her lips. Gabriel can tell she’s playing dumb.

Ede’s rhythmic tapping fills the brief silence as Ade stands up, leaps over the stone barrier, and rounds behind his brother, pointing something out on the screen.

“Well,” Amira says, shifting closer to Penelope, “we know one person who will definitely have possession of one of those.”

The rest of the crew's eyes focus instantly on Penelope. She stares at them, feigning confusion before she realizes none of them are buying it.

“You want to steal my father’s invite,” Penelope states flatly. “And how would you propose I do that? My father is one of the smartest crooks alive; he’ll see me coming from a mile away…”

What she doesn’t speak into existence is the impossibly high bar her father has always set for her. Caspian Lockett expects Penelope to find her own way to achieve Most Wanted with little to no help from him, sometimes even to the detriment of their relationship. Gabriel knows it's still a very touchy subject for her.

“I don’t even have anything to possibly bring to him to distract him long enough to steal it,” she adds.

“Gabriel and I do.”

Penelope stares at Amira, the shorter girl’s arms crossed tightly in front of her.

“You and Gabriel?”

Gabriel slips off the stone railing and steps forward with newfound curiosity. “Yeah, what?”

“My brother,” Amira states. “He keeps trying to contact me,” she adds, looking directly at Gabriel. “To get to you.”

Right… that.

Penelope sits up straight, her gaze flickering between him and Amira before finally locking onto Amira. “Letters? What letters? From the Nameless?” Amira nods. Penelope continues, “From your brother?” Amira nods again. Penelope adds, “Threatening letters about the blackmail from Avery's parents?”

Amira nods once more.

Penelope’s gaze turns sharply onto Gabriel. “You knew?”

He shrugs. She doesn’t look to like that action very much.

“You didn’t think to let me in on this little development, Avery?”

“I don’t have to tell you everything, Lockett.”

Penelope’s face falls. Gabriel cringes internally the exact second the words leave his mouth, wishing he could take back how he said it. He tells himself it's fine. It's not that big of a deal. He never told Amira about the threatening letter Penelope got, either. Sometimes information just doesn't need to be shared with everyone.

Penelope, however, doesn’t look to agree with that sentiment at all. Her shoulders go rigid, and her face slips into a cold, perfectly blank mask.

“Fine.” She turns entirely away from him and responds to Amira. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He shouldn’t feel bad, not really… but he does. He completely does. Stubbornly, he forces himself to ignore the knot tightening in his chest, shuffling back toward Ede and Ade to pretend to listen as they explain other security measures.

She'll get over it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, he and Penelope run into each other right as they step out of their rooms, heading for the lifts. Ade has already texted him from Ede’s phone, which they left behind, because the Brothers Crim believe Gabriel’s lack of a mobile device is downright blasphemous, and they are about to start clearing the breakfast buffet.

Gabriel didn't realize how late he actually stayed up the night before, ruminating on how they were possibly going to pull this off. How is he supposed to convince his parents to extend the blackmail deadline when the assessment's prize money only covers a little over a third of what they demanded? He tries to convince himself that if he can hand over a massive down payment, they’ll have no choice but to offer their only son some grace to secure the rest.

“Hey,” he nods, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. The morning air is crisp today, a reminder of the nippy Italian weather as they edge closer to May. His fingers brush against his lucky coin, cool to the touch. The familiar weight brings a strange sort of peace. He pulls it out, lazily twisting the silver between his knuckles.

“Sleep well?” Penelope asks briskly as the lift dings and the doors slide open.

He follows her inside. “Well enough. You?”

“Fine.”

Okay, awkward. Gabriel sighs.

“Are we okay?”

“Of course.” She stares straight ahead as the doors close, and they are surrounded by only the low hum of the elevator motor kicking into gear, slowly. In the tight space, the subtle, floral scent of her perfume drifts toward him. She is standing mere inches away.

He should just say what he’s thinking.

“I didn’t tell you with the intent to keep you in the dark, Penelope. I just… I didn’t—”

“You don't need to explain, Avery.”

“Seems I do,” he counters, turning toward her, pocketing his coin once more before holding his arms stiffly at his sides.

“Look,” Penelope turns toward him, her head tilts back to meet his gaze, “I get that you don’t need to disclose every single part of your existence to me. That’s fine. But I’m just as deep into your parents' blackmail as you are at this point. Not telling me they’re also going through Amira and her brother kinda leaves out some of the stakes.”

A heavy beat of silence stretches between them.

“I deserve to know the stakes.”

“I know.” He sighs, looking past her briefly to gather his next words carefully. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Penelope exhales softly, her gaze dropping to his collar before rising back to his eyes. “Fine. But you’re on thin ice, Avery.”

Gabriel smirks. “When am I not?”

“And this,” Penelope holds up her hand, revealing his coin perfectly perched between her index and middle finger. Gabriel's hand flies to his pocket. It’s empty. He stares at her, a mix of shock and reluctant admiration washing over his face. When had she even...? “This is mine for the foreseeable future,” she finishes.

Before he can even argue, the lift doors slide open to the lobby. Penelope breezes right past him, tossing him a playful, victorious glance over her shoulder. Gabriel can only smile, shoving his hands deeper into his empty pockets to keep a shiver at bay. 

Too bad his good mood evaporates the second they step into the lobby.

“Penelope Lockett and Gabriel Avery coming out of the lift together.”

Penelope stops so fast that Gabriel's hands find her shoulders, gently guiding her forward to keep from crashing into her back. Across the space, Edgar leans against a dark burgundy wall, a tight, smug smile spreading across his face as he raises his brows. Dorian stands with his hands in his pockets, amused.

“What do you want, Edgar?” Gabriel forces out.

“Just wanting to check in with my two favorite Legacies.” Edgar smiles wider, his tone entirely disingenuous. He pushes off the wall to step closer. “Well, favorites for very different reasons, obviously.”

“And why, Edgar, would we disclose anything to you?” Penelope spits out.

“Legacies have to stick together, even when in competition,” Edgar says smoothly, like it's just a universal given. “Even when those of us choose to pair with the less fortunate Merits among us.”

Dorian stands just behind Edgar’s shoulder, a mocking smile on his lips. “A very noble charity project, may I say, Penelope.”

“You shouldn’t.” She responds tersely. 

Edgar focuses on Penelope, stepping closer. “Still denying your true legacy to hang with a bunch of—”

“Merits?” Penelope interrupts fiercely. “You are aware you sound like a complete idiot, right? Amira and Gabriel are just as worthy of being Legacies as the likes of you two.”

“Two Legacies no one claims as their own,” Edgar counters with a look of mock innocence that screams, how am I in the wrong?

“Despite how you want to classify it, what constitutes someone being a Legacy or a Merit doesn’t defeat the fact that they are, in fact, Legacies. Get over yourself, Edgar.”

Gabriel shifts next to her, crossing his arms over his chest as he sizes up Edgar and Dorian. Penelope’s got this handled quite well. 

“You can still join the winning crew. The invite still stands,” Edgar says, standing tall and wearing a self-satisfied smile, completely brushing off the fact that she just insulted him.

“Delusional.”

Edgar’s smile falters for a fraction of a second, as if he’s just now realizing his charm isn't working. “Sorry…?”

Gabriel sighs loudly. “She’s saying no. The fact that I need to verbalize it for you concerns me, Delacombe.”

“You concern me, Avery.” Edgar volleys back. Dorian, standing just behind his friend, nods and hums in synchronized agreement.

“Great comeback,” Gabriel sneers.

“Fine,” Edgar relents, his eyes darting between the two of them. “You want to be dragged down by the Merits—” Penelope rolls her eyes, Gabriel shifting into her shoulder in sheer annoyance. “—that doesn’t ultimately affect me.”

“Perfect,” Penelope responds shortly. That makes Gabriel smirk briefly.

“But when we snatch that emerald necklace and get to brag about Crookhaven due to our success, I’ll be sure to rub it in,” Edgar says, his eyes locking straight onto Penelope. “And I won’t feel a single bit sorry for you, Penelope.”

Penelope scoffs. “Never asked you to be.”

“You don’t have a chance in hell of winning the assessment.” Gabriel presses forward, and Penelope instantly presses her forearm back into his stomach, holding him back. He stops, but his eyes remain locked on Edgar.

“More of a chance than you,” Dorian chimes in, stepping forward to embellish his friend's point. “Do you even have an invite to the gala? I bet not.”

“What?” Penelope frowns at the exact same time Gabriel asks, “You do?”

“Made a little call to my father. Five legitimate, hand-delivered invites to the masquerade for yours truly.” Edgar boasts with an arrogant smile. “I can secure one more if you change your mind, Lockett.”

“That’s cheating,” Penelope accuses, pressing forward to get right into Edgar’s face. He doesn’t stand down.

Gabriel firmly grasps her arm, gently pulling her back, much to her chagrin. “Of course you’d run to daddy the second you can’t come up with your own plan. Congratulations, Delacombe. You’ve officially proved yourself to be completely unworthy of Most Wanted.”

“Nowhere in the rules did they say we couldn’t use outside connections,” Dorian defends.

“Exactly,” Edgar smirks, utterly smug. “I’m using my resources just like any intelligent crook would. Smarter, not harder.”

The same annoyance rushing through Gabriel comes off Penelope in waves. He’s surprised she hasn’t pounced on either Legacy in frustration. 

“Well, as fun as this has been, we have an actual heist to plan without the help of our parents.” Gabriel keeps his grip on Penelope’s arm, guiding her backward through the lobby. “Don’t trip on the night of the event, Delacombe. Stairs aren’t your friend.”

“Shut up, Avery,” Edgar calls out, his composure finally slipping as Penelope and Gabriel turn toward the dining room. “One day you’re gonna need my help.”

Gabriel ignores him.

“We have to get that invite,” Penelope mutters darkly, her voice barely a whisper.

Gabriel rubs the back of his neck as they round the corner toward the breakfast buffet. “Exactly. Did your dad say he’d meet with us yet?”

“He gave me a noncommittal maybe,” Penelope responds, moving to step around a small family preparing for a long day of tourist traps and miles of walking. She presses into his side briefly as a result. It’s fleeting, but it definitely sends something warm through his body. “I figure if we just show up at his room, he’ll have to take us.”

Gabriel just nods as they reach the dining room entrance. It’s not hard to find their crew, currently taking up one of the large round tables and already digging heavily into the buffet offerings. He and Penelope run through the remaining buffet wordlessly before he slides into a seat next to Ade. Still, Penelope hesitates for a fraction of a second before following him over.

Penelope’s mind is already actively contemplating how the hell they’re gonna nick her father’s invite without him realizing. Maybe her father wouldn’t even care if he did know.

But at this point, it’s easily their best option for infiltrating the gala without his explicit help. She’s just not entirely sure if she’s ready for the fallout if they’re caught. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The elevator door of the hotel, a few blocks down from their own, dings as the three of them enter, pushing past a couple exiting into the lobby. Luckily, no one else gets on, despite the elevator being twice as big as the cramped one at their own lodging.

“So remember,” Amira murmurs as the doors close and the tenth-floor button lights up with a press, the elevator surging upward, “we’re discussing my brother’s attempts to get in contact with me to get to Gabriel. We need advice on what to do.”

Gabriel nods. “A legitimate ask. We just don’t mention the blackmail or the cost associated with it.”

“Just know my father is skilled at reading tells, Avery.” Penelope turns to Gabriel, perhaps poking him a little harder in the chest than strictly necessary. “Don’t run your hands through your hair. Don’t rub your hand over your mouth.”

Gabriel smirks. “Speak for yourself.”

“Last time we had to lie to Miss Jericho, you couldn’t stop fidgeting with your hair.”

Gabriel’s smile drops, his expression turning contemplative. “Fair. But that was because I actually felt bad after she did so much to help us. This,” he pauses, raising a brow, “I have no feelings about.”

“Great.” Amira interrupts them, causing both Gabriel and Penelope to instinctively jump away from each other.

Penelope doesn’t realize how close they’ve leaned toward one another until the space between them suddenly feels muggy with tension. She quickly wets her lips as Amira stares between the two of them with a highly raised brow.

“As fun as it is to watch you two argue,” Amira notes dryly, “we need to act as one.”

“Sorry,” Gabriel supplies, shoving his hands firmly into his jacket pockets. The elevator slows to a halt, and the doors ding as they slide open. “Ready?”

Penelope doesn’t say anything, but she nods, whether her companions notice or not. Her father always seems to be one step ahead of her, and when he isn't, he’s disappointed when she resorts to cheating, just like everyone else at Crookhaven does. There are standards that she feels she’ll never actually reach, despite how much her father reassures her that she’s his greatest achievement. It is hard when his natural standards for her feel so far above everyone else’s.

Amira and Gabriel exit, and Penelope follows them down the corridor. Room 1035.

When she knocks on the door, there’s a sudden prickle of anticipation in both of her friends. They wait for her father, who, hopefully, is still in his suite as they had hoped. Then again, there is always a chance that Caspian Lockett decided there was something far more worth his time around Italy.

The door rushes open, revealing her father in his crisply pressed suit and salt-and-pepper hair, a familiar ghost of a smirk playing on his face.

“Penelope. Gabriel. Amira.” He acknowledges each of them intentionally. “You found me. Come in, come in.” He opens the door wider, stepping aside to gesture for them to come in.

Her father’s suite is exactly that… a whole damn suite. Penelope is currently housed in a small room with just enough space for a bed, a small chaise, and a bathroom. Whoever marked her down for the tiny balcony that opens up to the river was a kind soul. And the more she pauses on that thought, the more she realizes it was no doubt an explicit request from her father.

“What can I do for you all this evening?” Caspian keeps a steady eye on all three of them, which is immediately going to make it harder for her to disappear for even a few minutes.

“I keep getting these letters…” Amira starts, “from Ishaan.”

Caspian's interest is instantly piqued. Penelope clocks the subtle twitch of his eyebrow and how her father’s finger begins to tap a rhythmic beat against his glass of whiskey. It’s then that Penelope fully registers he is already holding a drink. Something is clearly driving her father to seek comfort.

“Really?”

“Yeah, and I’m pretty sure it’s a tactic to get to Gabriel—”

Gabriel takes over seamlessly. “My parents are trying to communicate with me through Amira and her brother.”

“Why?” Caspian questions, perhaps not even asking them so much as asking himself. Then, her father’s finger motions toward the sitting room near the kitchen. “Please, come sit.”

They follow her father over, but not before Penelope tracks Gabriel’s line of sight toward the private office just off the little kitchenette and wet bar. That is exactly where she needs to be. And she needs to get there without her father's knowledge, which, as he sits down facing that exact direction, doesn't seem likely.

Penelope lingers behind to allow Gabriel and Amira to sit on the couch across from her father, opting instead to perch on the armrest of the sofa, deliberately pushing Gabriel's arm out of the way. He glares briefly up at her before focusing his attention back on the matters at hand.

This is not how this was supposed to play out, with her father having the perfect vantage point of the exact room she needs to infiltrate. But Penelope stays relatively quiet as Amira broaches the subject of her brother’s letter.

“Your brother?” Caspian questions with deep interest, his finger tapping the rim of his whiskey glass. “Did he say anything of actual importance, other than threats toward you or Gabriel?”

“Not to me,” Amira admits. Penelope glances down at Gabriel as he shifts uncomfortably next to her, but he keeps a remarkably straight face otherwise. Penelope's father catches the slight twitch too, apparently.

“Do you have this letter with you?”

Amira nods, reaching into her denim jacket and pulling out the folded piece of white paper. Her hands make quick work of unfolding it, reading the text aloud with practiced gravity:

Amira. Tell Gabriel that choosing a new name doesn't change his blood. He is where he is because we allow it. If he interferes with our interests, we will simply burn it all down. He’d better watch his back. Time is ticking.

Caspian’s head tilts just so, a faraway look washing over his face as he contemplates the words woven together. Penelope feels the crushing weight of the threat even more, knowing exactly what Gabriel’s parents’ blackmail truly entails. The safety of all of Crookhaven, the secrecy of everyone who attends, their parents, and their entire livelihoods. All of it is on the line.

As her father stares off silently toward his balcony, slowly swirling the drink in his hand, Penelope side-eyes Amira and Gabriel. She discreetly widens her eyes, praying her message gets across: they need to do something to draw her father's attention in a completely different direction.

Luckily, it seems Amira is already a step ahead of that exact development.

“Sir,” Amira says, drawing Penelope’s father’s attention once more. “There is actually something else.”

“Yes?” Caspian Lockett is always a keen observer, forever up for learning more intel. Penelope guesses she inherited that trait directly from him, both the good and the bad.

“There’s this watermark, or like a hidden seal of some kind. You can see it when you hold it up against something dim, like a distant light or the moon.”

Penelope's head whips to Amira at the same time Caspian’s attention locks onto the girl. Interesting.

“A secret message, perhaps?”

Amira stands up, then moves toward the open balcony door that lets in the cool, late-evening air. She holds the paper up, peering at it with the utmost interest.

Caspian stands too, walking over to gaze at whatever anomaly Amira has conjured up. Gabriel follows immediately, standing right behind the two of them. It’s then that Penelope clocks his subtle, gentle hand wave behind his back as they all stand with their backs turned, gazing out at the street lamps illuminating the late evening.

She moves like a cat: silent, soft, and lightning-fast. She whips around to the slightly ajar study door, putting all of her faith in Gabriel and Amira to continue the ruse long enough for her to get back unnoticed.

Penelope cringes when the door hinge gives a tiny, sharp creak. She quickly holds the wood completely still for a breathless moment, listening intently to ensure her father and her two accomplices are still conversing out in the main room. They are, luckily.

She slips through the small crack she makes and pads as lightly as a ghost over to the ornate wooden desk that sits in the middle of the room.

There are only two places her father would keep a high-profile invitation so as not to lose it or let someone nick it. One is inside his favorite book. The other is the second drawer of his desk.

She goes to the desk.

For such an old piece of furniture, the drawer opens incredibly smoothly. Penelope plucks out her father’s signature leather booklet, one he travels with absolutely everywhere to house his most important documents, and riffles through it. Passport, hotel itinerary for the entire Crookhaven student body… papers that, if she had a little more time, she would wholeheartedly peek at for intel. But she has a goal, and that isn't it.

Toward the back of the booklet, her thumb brushes across thick cardstock. Its warm-gold foil lettering and perfectly handwritten black script lay out the precise details of the Masquerade. Time. Place. It’s fairly heavy, and the edges are absolutely pristine. This is clearly important to him.

Why is this so important to him?

A sudden sound from the main hotel suite knocks her instantly back into action. She gently replaces the leather-bound folder in the drawer, ensuring the papers on top of it remain exactly as they were. She shuts the drawer with agonizing slowness.

Before she exits, the prize invitation in hand, she carefully shoves it up the front of her jumper, making sure not to crinkle the paper or accidentally fold an edge.

Penelope does her absolute best not to bring any attention to herself as she quietly rounds back out into the main room, hoping her jumper keeps its shape so the invitation doesn’t slide right out. Gabriel can apparently tell she has it, which means her father could easily clock it too if he turns around. So she carefully steps toward the three of them while her father finishes analyzing the letter. Gabriel moves away, casually turning his body to block her father's line of sight.

Their hands are blindingly quick and entirely silent. The invite is removed from under her sweater, and Gabriel’s nimble fingers pluck it away, slipping it discreetly into his jacket. Once she is confident it is entirely secure, she presses her hand roughly into his chest to push him away from her.

“Too close, Avery,” she sneers, displaying very little actual annoyance.

Gabriel’s brow ticks up, fighting a small, knowing tug at the corner of his lips.

They both crowd back around her father as Caspian hands the letter back to Amira, who folds it back up following the same deep creases.

“That is very interesting. I haven’t seen a hidden watermark like that in years,” Caspian surmises. “I’ll have to ask Whisper to do some research on it. Keep that hidden for now. As for the threats, the safest place Gabriel can be right now is at Crookhaven—”

“But the assessment,” Gabriel rushes out, stepping forward with sudden worry. Penelope stands ready to argue if needed; Amira’s own stance straightens with an immediate fight in her. They need Gabriel in Rome. He’s the glue that keeps this entire crew together.

“I mean with us,” her father corrects softly, an apologetic glint in his eye and an unassuming smile on his mouth. “Keep surrounded. Don’t go off on your own. Once we are all back at Crookhaven, we can explore more of this… situation your parents have put you in.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Penelope smiles softly toward her father, whose own gaze melts with warmth the moment it lands on her. For all her absolute annoyances with the man, he has never once made her doubt that he loves her. Maybe he can cause her to doubt her abilities or worry whether she could ever be as great as him and her mum, but never that he genuinely cares for her. And in turn, that care apparently extends to the people she cares about, too.

… All of them, though. Not just Gabriel.

“Well, it’s starting to get late,” Gabriel broaches their exit. “We’d better get back for dinner.”

“Ah, yes. Dinner.” Caspian smiles, as if that’s an excuse enough for them to leave. She knows her father knows better than that, of course. “May I have a moment with my daughter, please?”

Penelope glances at her companions, who both wear a brief look of confused curiosity. But they both quickly catch on, nodding their goodbyes to Caspian Lockett and exiting the same way the three of them were greeted.

Penelope stares at her father, awaiting the hammer to fall, expecting him to catch her in her act of skulduggery.

“I was hoping you would have dinner with me… tomorrow, if you don’t yet have plans with your little crew.”

Penelope relaxes slightly, her shoulders dropping. “Dinner?”

“Yes. This little place a few blocks away. Where your mother and I had our fifth date. It’s a very special place for us, and I would love to take my daughter there. To spend time in a city I quite enjoy.” Her father’s hand lifts, gently cupping her jaw. “If you want to, of course.”

Penelope’s face softens further. She swallows hard and nods. “I do.”

Caspian Lockett smiles warmly, staring at her for a beat like he’s seeing something deep in her face. Something that warms him thoroughly.

“I love you greatly, Penelope.” He moves in, pulling her into a tight, fierce hug. Her face is pressed into that familiar, warm cedar scent of his, the tweed of his suit soft against her cheek. She manages to squeeze him tight for a moment, repeating his words back to him.

“I love you too, Dad.”

They both pull back, and Caspian supplies her with another warm gaze as he walks her out, confirming a precise time for their dinner tomorrow. She walks back down the hotel hallway, waving a final goodbye as he disappears back into his room.

Amira and Gabriel are leaning carelessly against the opposite wall near the elevators when she rounds the corner.

“Everything okay?” Amira asks, her curious brows furrowed.

Penelope just smiles and nods as she meets them, her brief eye contact with Gabriel causing his own mouth to tick up, even as he stays entirely silent.

Amira turns to Penelope the second they are inside the elevator. “Did you get it?”

Gabriel whips the invitation out of his jacket with a flourish, brandishing it perfectly between Penelope and Amira. Amira snags it cleanly out of Gabriel's hand and smiles, staring down at the cardstock much like Penelope did before she hid it under her jumper.

“You lot,” Amira smirks. “Now we just need to create seven replicas of this and return the original without your father ever realizing it was gone to begin with.”

Penelope bristles slightly at the sheer technical challenge of the thought.

Amira looks up at her as the elevator nears the lobby floor. “Your forgery skills still up to par, Lockett?”

Penelope sneers playfully at her crewmate. “Always.”

~~~~~~~~~~

They head out rather late the next day, stuck inside the hotel for the entire morning as a heavy rainstorm moves through the city. Luckily, they manage to keep busy in the hotel lounge. Gabriel spends hours learning chess from Jia, deeply appreciating how much the master lockpicker lights up when she shows off her expertise. He would probably find the game rather dull if it were anyone else, but her intensity is contagious.

Just before noon, the sun finally breaks back out, warming the air enough for them to leave their jackets behind.

“So, I did some research last night for a few stationery stores that stock high-quality cardstock, foils, inks, and pens,” Amira states. She presses her back against the stone railing of a bridge they’ve found themselves on, the group having followed Ade and Ede across the river to a pastry shop the twins desperately wanted to check out for lunch.

It was a long walk, so the crew decided to take a breather while the brothers happily munched away. Gabriel finishes the last sweet bite of his maritozzo before speaking up. “How long is it actually gonna take to replicate these invites?”

“A day at least,” Penelope answers without looking up. Her face is pressed gently against the viewfinder of a film camera as she zooms in on something of interest in the distance. “The ink alone has to dry completely before we can even start layering the foil. Then the foil, for it to properly hold, will take at least another full day to set.”

“The expert has spoken,” Villette squeaks out. The blonde stares off in the same direction as Penelope, subtly pointing toward something in the distance. Penelope nods lightly in some mutual agreement, and a few moments later, the sound of a shutter goes off.

“It’s already Tuesday…” Ede trails off with a gulp.

Gabriel flips around, shifting closer to Villette and Penelope. He rests his forearms on the cool stone and leans in, attempting to track whatever has captured the girls' attention.

“It’s fine,” Amira assures them. “We’ve got until Friday. If we get the materials today, Penelope can start on the lettering tonight, and we’ll help finish the rest. Should be done before Thursday at the latest.”

Gabriel nudges Penelope’s arm with his shoulder, nodding toward her camera with a silent, questioning quirk of his brow. What are you looking at?

Penelope shoots him a look back… wouldn’t you like to know?

But instead of insulting his curiosity, she pivots and points the camera straight at him. Gabriel closes his eyes and flashes a wide, genuine smile just as the shutter snaps.

When he opens his eyes, Penelope is lowering the camera, a small, lingering smile softening her features. She holds his gaze for a beat longer than is strictly normal between two friends, looking thoroughly amused and perhaps a little… annoyed. Just the way he likes her.

Or rather, how he’s used to her. Now and back before. But definitely more so now.

Gabriel forcefully brushes the thought away before his mind can wander any further.

“Well, it’s already nearing one, and we’ve got nothing yet,” Ade adds, dusting pastry flakes off his fingers.

“Let’s split up,” Penelope suggests, nodding toward Amira and Villette. “We’ll go find a calligraphy pen and the ink pigment so I can start practicing the script.” She glances at Jia to include her, but Jia is already moving toward Ade and Ede, a calculating look in her eyes.

“The boys need someone to keep them on track,” Jia states matter-of-factly.

“Okay…“ Penelope nods slowly. “Cardstock shouldn’t be too hard to match, but the foils are going to be the real challenge. Here,” she says, handing the stolen invitation over to Ede. “Take the original. I’ve already memorized the ink consistency and color. The stamp shouldn’t be difficult either; it looks typical of what you can get from a high-end stationery store around here.”

“Cool,” Gabriel nods. “Meet back here in an hour?”

With unanimous nods, the group breaks off. Gabriel, the twins, and Jia head back down the cobblestone streets toward an art supply shop Jia spotted on their walk to the pastry shop. It happens to be the same one that topped Amira’s research list.

It doesn't take long to find. A tiny, cramped storefront squeezed tight between the entrance of an apartment building and a hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop. The owner greets them in rapid Italian. Ade and Ede respond in kind, but the man quickly picks up on their accents and realizes they aren't locals. He politely leaves them well enough alone to browse.

After a few minutes of perusing, Jia steps toward the counter, quietly asking the shopkeeper about metallic foils, leaving Gabriel to drift toward the back of the store. He stands before tables stacked with various sketchpads, blank canvases, and textured, colored papers of every conceivable weight.

Ede pulls out the stolen invitation, holding it up to the light before passing it over to Ade. They look up at the shelves and back down at the cardstock, trying to help Gabriel gauge a match. But it only takes a minute of quiet searching before Ade decides to throw a massive wrench into their rather easy task.

“Hey, Gabester.”

Gabriel continues running his fingers over a stack of paper, searching for the exact creamy, off-white texture. “Yeah?” he murmurs absently.

“You and Penelope…” Ade suddenly leans in conspiratorially, dropping his elbow heavily onto Gabriel’s shoulder. “What’s the deal with that?”

Gabriel freezes. “What about it?”

He tries to brush the question off, but should he really be surprised? He’s noticed the looks his friends have been throwing his way whenever he and Penelope stand maybe a little too close. But there is nothing to report. They’re friends. Good friends. Partners in crooked crime.

“Oh, don’t even play dumb, Gabester—”

Jia chimes in from a nearby aisle, crossing her arms over her chest, like she’s reading Gabriel’s stiff posture. “We’re not blind, Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s eyes shoot toward Jia in mild annoyance before quickly focusing back on the cardstock in front of him, weakly thumbing through a stack of heavy paper to avoid their gazes.

“You two have totally been making googly eyes at one another,” Ade continues relentlessly, leaning in closer. “It’s honestly kinda awkward to be around you guys when you get all starry-eyed—”

“We do not get starry-eyed,” Gabriel counters, throwing a sharp glare at his friend. “We’re just close friends.”

“We’re close friends,” Ede states matter-of-factly, his tone completely flat. Gabriel bristles instantly.

“Yeah,” Ade says, slapping his twin's shoulder and grinning. “And you definitely don’t look at us that way.”

“Can we please just focus on what we actually came here for?” Gabriel turns his back completely, marching over to an entirely different display table covered in colored paper, none of which are remotely close to the elegant cream shade they are in search of.

Gabriel just wants to secure the cardstock and get out of here. He is carrying enough weight as it is, with planning and executing the assessment for the money. He doesn't need this distraction weighing on him, too. The less time they spend lingering, the fewer chances other crews have of catching them while they prepare for the gala, the better. They’re already lagging behind Edgar and Dorian, who have five legitimate invitations handed to them on a silver platter.

At least that’s what he tells himself to ease his mind.

“Cool. Fine,” Ade says, lifting his hands in a mock surrender and backing away slowly. Ede nods along in silent agreement. Gabriel turns and plucks the invitation out of Ade’s hand to examine the texture himself. “But you are absolutely spilling everything once we’re back at Crookhaven.”

Gabriel completely ignores them, focusing on matching a heavy sheet of cardstock to the edge of the stolen invitation. He feels peeled open, acutely aware that his friends are still subtly peering at him with smirks that say they know exactly what he's hiding.

Fortunately, Jia breaks the tension by finding the perfect shade and brilliant sheen of gold foil. The twins and Gabriel finally agree on a textured cream cardstock that matches their sample almost one-to-one.

The bell above the entrance chimes as they finally step back out onto the narrow sidewalk, and Gabriel immediately has to twist his shoulders to avoid an incoming customer. They clash arms anyway. A quick, heavy collision with someone ducking into the shop, a hood shielding their face. The person doesn't even slow down, just muttering a clipped word in Italian before quickly disappearing into the dim interior.

He glances back at the closed door, thinking the guy was kinda rude, but he's mostly just glad for the minor distraction as his friends spout off their opinions on common human decency as they trek back down the road.

~~~~~~~~~~

Penelope feels the three sets of eyes boring into different parts of her. They track the steady swirl and flick of her wrist, watching how her fingers grip the calligraphy pen, firm and delicate. It’s like performing for an audience under pressure. With a few more short, sweeping lines, a quick loop, and a final flourish that starts thick and tapers to a thin tail, she carefully pushes back the cardstock and sets the pen into its holder.

She stretches her spine with a soft groan. After sitting hunched over the small desk for the last two hours, meticulously perfecting her script before committing it to the final eight cards, an extra just in case, she is desperate to move. Her knuckles crack in a satisfying, rapid succession.

“Seriously, where did you learn to do this?” Jia asks, leaning over the row of drying invitations to inspect the penmanship. Her usual sharp gaze is completely softened by genuine awe, which sparks a sudden, quiet flash of pride in Penelope’s chest.

“Perks of being the Headmaster’s daughter, I guess,” Penelope says dryly, rubbing the back of her stiff neck. “Before I could officially attend Crookhaven as a student, I had to sit around and do my normal schoolwork while everyone else learned. I found Mr. Palombo's class rather intriguing, so I'd hide away in the classroom's cupboard. Just sit there for hours and practice as often as I could.” After a beat, she adds, “I always thought there was something beautiful about people’s penmanship. You can learn a lot about a person.”

“Yeah, well, your control is scary,” Amira chimes in, carefully picking up the original invitation by its edges and comparing it to the final replica Penelope just finished. “I can’t tell a difference at all. If it were me, yeah, I could do maybe two or three, but my first and last would end up looking drastically different from one another.”

Penelope shrugs, though a small smile tugs at her lips. “I’ve practiced a lot.”

“I’m pairing with you on any future Forgery assignment,” Jia declares.

From her perch across the room, Villette shifts her weight. “What’s next?”

Penelope sighs, eyeing the materials spread across the hotel desk. Luckily, it seems this part of the lounge remains largely undisturbed. “The gold foils need to be cut and heat-pressed to match the original lettering embellishments.”

“I’ll cut,” Villette says flatly. She glides over, pulling the sheets of gold foil toward herself and flipping the X-Acto knife out with a practiced, terrifyingly fluid motion. The small blonde looks entirely too lethal with a razor blade, her focus zeroing in instantly.

Amira takes a seat in the chair next to her, pulling the original invitation to her, thumbing the corner lightly so as not to bend it. “What’s your plan to get this back to your dad anyway? I kinda don’t have another letter or anything we can use to distract him again.”

“I fear he’d also probably end up suspicious if you did,” Jia adds, lips twisting.

Penelope sits up straighter, watching closely as Villette cuts a strip of foil, waiting in case she needs to give any direction. “I have a loose plan. It involves dinner with my father tonight. His hotel room. Spilled whiskey.”

“Spilled whiskey?”

“Forces him to change his shirt for dinner,” Penelope explains. “I slip quickly back into the study and leave the invitation. Simple.”

“Yeah,” Amira nods, looking like she’s trying to believe it will be that easy.

They fall silent, watching Villette cut another strip. Amira twirls the uninked stationery stamp on the table, looking thoroughly bored. “The boys are being entirely useless right now.”

Jia chuckles lowly, scrolling through her phone. “I just threatened Ede. If he doesn’t bring me back carbonara, I’m changing the password on his computer.”

“Seriously, how does a quick snack run turn into a three-hour disappearance?” Amira groans, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “They’re probably lost.”

“Or Edgar and Dorian tricked them into another ice house,” Penelope suggests, a smirk on her face. “Maybe even Leon.”

Jia bristles instantly, and Amira lets out a loud, dramatic groan at the memory.

“I was technically forced into the ice house,” Villette states without looking up from her precise cutting, the tiniest smirk touching her lips. “My participation does not count as being duped like the rest of you.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Harkness.” Amira laughs, tossing a crumpled piece of scrap paper at her. Villette effortlessly ducks it without ruining her perfectly straight line on the foil.

Penelope leans back against the chair. Through it all, they seamlessly fall into their respective roles. Despite the looming threat of the Nameless, the impossible quarter-million-pound blackmail, and the fact that they are currently forging top-tier invitations to rob a palace, the familiar rhythm of the girls' bickering brings a sudden, grounding warmth to her chest.

“Alright, more cutting,” Penelope commands playfully, tapping the desk. “We need these foils ready to press the second the ink dries. Can’t have Mr. Khan catching us.”

~~~~~~~~~~

End of part 1

He just hopes they’re still on the same page…

“Have you heard the rumors?” Jia pops up from behind them, making them all turn in gentle surprise.

“What rumors?” Ede questions with trepidation.

Ade smiles, surprising Jia with an embrace that she attempts to deny she appreciates with the scowl that takes over her face, though she still manages to pat Ade on the side as he pulls away.

“Juicy ones, I hope,” Ade adds. “Did Lulu and Warren finally hook up? Does Whisper have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?” Ade hops on his toes eagerly. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Jia.”

“This year’s assignment,” Jia says strictly, shooting Ade a glare. “Supposedly, they’re gonna have us apply our skills in the real world.”

“A real-world assessment,” Ede repeats, gulping at the thought.

Gabriel adjusts his crooked tie, worn a little looser than Ede’s fairly straight one, and scoffs. “Like they want a bunch of us out in London pickpocketing criminals or something?”

“Apparently, they plan a heist every few years. We just so happen to be in the midst of one of those cycles,” Jia answers.

“I hope it’s not London,” Ade comments, hopping in place in anticipation. “I’d rather go somewhere exotic, like France. Oh, or Portugal.”

“I'm unsure I would necessarily consider France exotic,” Ede remarks back to his twin.

Ade stares at his brother incredulously. “As if you’ve ever been out of London. Where would you consider exotic, then?”

Ede starts to ponder the question as they meander into the main building. Gabriel catches only a fraction of the argument between the twins, smiling absently, almost ready to agree with Ede’s suggestion of Ibiza—

“Avery.”

His head whips straight, brown eyes meeting brown. Penelope stands in her crisp uniform, her crossover tie perfect and her skirt flawlessly ironed. Dark brown hair cascades over her shoulder in waves as she stares back at him from across the grand hallway. He can’t help the small uptick of his mouth, or how his body buzzes just that little bit more at actually seeing her rather than just the thought of her.

“Oh, brother,” Jia murmurs.

Gabriel’s gaze only shoots to Jia for a fleeting moment before training right back on Penelope. Letters just aren’t enough.

“Lockett,” Ade calls out with a smile, heading toward the headmaster’s daughter as if they’re the best of friends. Gabriel guesses that after last year, when she basically saved Ede from having a panic attack in Maravel’s maze, the younger twin sees her that way. “How’s my favorite Legacy?”

Gabriel moves after Ade, contemplating if a simple "Hi" is a perfectly reasonable greeting after two months apart. Penelope looks slightly shocked as Ade pulls her into an embrace, though she seems to take it better than Jia did.

“Fine.”

It’s short, sweet, and so Penelope. Never needing too many words to get her point across. Ede swoops in after his brother, giving Penelope a quick hug as some silent understanding passes between the two of them.

“You two are so gushy.”

Amira’s voice appears behind him. Gabriel turns to see Amira shooting Ede and Ade a look that feels playful in nature, but Gabriel knows she and Penelope still aren’t on the best of terms. The third degree she's giving the twins isn't necessarily a good sign; both girls just tolerating each other because they happen to hang around the same people. Gabriel sometimes thinks it’s only because of him, really. But that would make him conceited, so he lets the thought go as quickly as it floats through his head.

Ade smiles. “Mad you’re last?” He playfully goes in to pick her up in a bear hug, much to Amira’s feigned disgust.

Gabriel smiles, but the need to swivel back around to Penelope is too strong. As Ade playfully whips Amira back and forth in his arms, Gabriel turns and hesitates for a moment… should he even? 

He decides yes.

Pulling Penelope in under his right arm, her arms wrap loosely around his middle in return. He catches the quick glance Jia shoots them, but she just as quickly ignores them, focusing instead on Ade pestering Amira with questions about her summer.

Gabriel lets Penelope go gently, and she glances back up at him.

“Got my last letter?”

“Yeah.” His mouth upturns again. “Thanks for the advice. It really helped.”

“Figured you could use some encouragement. Can’t have you getting cold feet thinking you don’t belong here.”

Gabriel loves and hates the warmth that blooms from her saying those words with such a glint in her eye. It's something he’s still shocked by, worlds away from her feelings when he first arrived at Crookhaven two years ago, and worlds away from how he initially saw himself belonging, too. He fits in somewhere considered unconventional, and he wouldn’t have it any other way now.

“Good to be back.”

“After last year?” Penelope responds. “Fresh start.”

“Fresh start,” he repeats.

His parents are still lingering in the back of his mind, demanding he pay them hundreds of thousands of pounds. How he’ll manage that, he doesn't quite know. To be blackmailed by your own parents because they’re mad you didn’t join them a second time... that’s a layer of complicated even he doesn’t want to peel back.

“Attention!” Mr. Valesquez’s voice cuts through the chatter of the hall.

All eyes are trained on the staff standing at the top landing of the staircase at the end of the hall: Jericho, Sisman, Whisper, Khan, and Palombo. Headmaster Caspian Lockett stands right in the middle, a smirk playing on his face as he surveils all the returning students and a few new faces. Penelope stands straighter at the sight of her father, stepping forward toward the staircase with everyone else. Gabriel stops next to her, staring up at their elders.

“Good morning, crooklings,” Miss Jericho calls out with a genuine smile. “Hope you all settled in well for your first night.”

Most actually arrived yesterday and have already unpacked. Gabriel had extended his time with his gran by one more day to ensure the woman had everything she needed for his time away, making sure all the bills for their apartment were paid at least until he returned during Crooxeat. Because of that, his stuff had been thrown into the room he shares with the twins as fast as humanly possible this morning, right before he hobbled into his uniform to be on time.

“Welcome to those of you joining us for the first time,” Miss Jericho continues, scanning the new faces, “and those of you back again for another year of training. It’s good to have you back.”

Gabriel glances briefly down at Penelope, who’s already side-eying him with minuscule amusement.

“As we start the year, we acknowledge there are some rumblings of the Nameless—”

Murmurs immediately break through the room, and Gabriel’s face tightens.

“Please,” Sisman calls out, his voice booming over the noise. “Listen up. We won’t be repeating ourselves, ya hear?” The head gardener and master boobytrapper nods back toward Miss Jericho.

“We’ve heard the rumors, and there is nothing to be concerned about,” Miss Jericho continues. “The island is secure, and we have patrols everywhere. The rumors are just that. They are designed to make you anxious, and there is no reason to be.”

That doesn’t stop the air in the room from tightening, making the space feel almost claustrophobic. Penelope shifts next to him, her arm brushing against his side. She knows about the note he got. She knows that if he does not pay up by the deadline, the Nameless will retaliate, and Crookhaven will be right in their crosshairs. The rumors, in this case, are entirely true.

The heavy tension in his jaw is noticeable, especially when he catches Caspian Lockett’s gaze. It’s almost as if the man already knows. Penelope wouldn’t tell her father… would she?

Caspian glances back at the crowd and steps forward, his hand braced on Miss Jericho's shoulder, gently stopping her from continuing.

“Let us get back to why we are all here,” Caspian says, his commanding voice instantly silencing the room. “To learn, and to gain the skills needed to be the best Crooks you can be. To give back to society by being those with integrity and goodness, bringing down those who seek to do harm.”

When Caspian Lockett talks, people listen.

“Now, I think something we can announce to you is the event of the year, which we like to call... The Assessment.”

Murmurs break out again, but these bring a sharp turn, an air of excitement that even Gabriel is intrigued by. Jia was right, and she looks mighty proud of herself standing next to him. Gabriel smiles.

Caspian has a distinct glint in his eye as he continues. “The Assessment will test your skills not only as an individual, but as a crew. A heist where you plan, you execute, and you show off your specialty as crooks in training. A competition where the prize is bragging rights... and a cash prize of one hundred thousand pounds.”

Gabriel snaps flatly upright at that. One hundred thousand pounds. That would be a massive, life-saving help in getting his parents the money they demanded. A gentle tug at his blazer makes him look down, finding Penelope silently communicating with her eyes. They’re on the same page. There’s no other option but to win that. None at all.

“Your training this year will prepare you for the heist, and you won’t know where or what you will be doing until it starts, keeping things entirely fair.”

Excited whispers ripple through the hall.

“Study well, Crooklings. And have a wonderful year.”

People clap, some hooting in excitement, while Gabriel just stares for a moment or two longer as the Crookhaven staff convene among themselves up on the landing.

“So, I was right.”

Gabriel’s brows furrow momentarily as he regards his friends, who are already huddling into their own tight circle, before he fully processes Jia’s jubilation.

“Well, now we need to start a pot on where this assessment is going to take place,” Ade says. “I’ll put my money on Portugal.”

“I’d go for Turkey.” Amira bites in.

“Eh,” Ede doesn't look convinced about that one. “I would want to go somewhere warmer—”

“Like?” Ade presses.

“Like... Turks and Caicos.”

“I’ll put my money on that one.” Villette appears out of nowhere behind Ede, making the shorter twin jump.

“Villette.” Ade laughs awkwardly, his eyes darting around the rest of them. “You’re back.”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Villette says, her face a perfect blank mask. “Put me down for Turks and Caicos.”

“You can’t do that,” Ede responds timidly.

“Why not?” Villette asks.

“Rules don’t say she can’t,” Amira intervenes. “Just that if it is, you split the pool.”

Ede looks conflicted. “I don’t want to split it—”

“Too late, bro,” Ade chuckles through his teeth, patting his brother on the back in jest. “Even if you win, you lose. I’d say get used to it, but I’m pretty sure you already are.”

Ede sneers at his twin. “So are you.”

Gabriel smiles at the banter.

“Lockett?” Amira prompts, acknowledging Penelope.

“Cairo.”

“Good guess, good guess.” Ade nods in appreciation. “Gabester? What’ll it be?”

“Anywhere other than London.” The majority of them nod in understanding. It's not like Gabriel has ever really been far from England, so anywhere else would be just fine by him.

“Gotta pick a specific destination,” Amira corrects, even though she seems to agree with the sentiment.

“Monte Carlo,” he shrugs.

"I'll go with Tokyo." Jia chimes in.

“Ooo,” Ade nods with a smile. “I like that one. Good pick, Ja-Jia. Now, cash. Twenty pounds each?”

"I look terrible," she mutters, glancing down to make sure Jackson's eyes are actually fluttering shut. She's in day-old pajamas with a faint spit stain near the collar.

To him, though, she's never looked better. She's the perfect image of a mom—caring, loving, cradling the little being they created.

Fuck, if he's not even more in love with her now.

Which is precisely why he wants to hang out with her tonight. Just a few hours where they're not listening for the inevitable 11 p.m. cry.

"You know you can get changed," he teases.

"And what about Jackson? We can't just—"

"I've got that covered."

She shoots him a look that's equal parts shock and disbelief.

"What? Trust me."

She keeps staring, slowing her rocking.

"Sof. Come on. I've got it."

"Okay," she murmurs finally.

He grins. That's his girl.

"Let me," he says, standing and holding out his hands. Sofia settles their sleeping baby into his arms, smiling as he walks away to lay him gently in the bassinet.

"What should I wear?" she asks softly.

He shrugs, placing Jack down as carefully as he can. "Nothing fancy. Just whatever makes you feel good."

~~~~~

"I can't believe you convinced Topper to babysit," Sofia states with a nervous laugh as Rafe's hand tightens a little on the steering wheel.

Rafe smirks. "Honestly, he's been pestering me about it for the last two months. I think Lila's wanting a test run."

"A test run with a baby or for Topper himself?"

He huffs out a laugh. "Both?"

"I texted my mom to be ready—"

"Sof." He says her name like a playful warning.

Her voice lifts in defense. "Just in case. I can't help it if you're taking us forty-five minutes away."

He won't admit it out loud, but he's actually glad she did. As much as he trusts Lila with Jackson, he's maybe only ninety percent sure about Topper. His friend typically means well, but there've been moments that make Rafe hesitate.

"Jack will be fine," he assures, reaching his free hand over to squeeze hers where it rests on her lap. She doesn't let go.

"Okay."

"Forget for at least three hours that you have responsibilities. Just exist with me."

"Fine," she sighs, though a smile pulls at her lips. "I'll play."

"You look gorgeous, by the way."

"Rafe." She clutches his hand tighter, shooting him a mock glare.

"What?"

"You've only said that like ten times tonight."

"And I'm sure I'll say it ten more," he counters easily. "Can't help it. You look… ravishing."

She laughs. "Oh, big SAT word."

They both laugh, but he's not wrong. The second Sofia stepped out of the closet wearing that black halter top—shimmering just enough in the right light, plunging low enough to make his brain short-circuit—he knew he'd spend the whole night fighting not to stare.

Lucky for him, she's his wife. She doesn't mind if he looks.

~~~~~

Dinner flies by faster than Rafe anticipated. They share way too many plates and sip easily on glasses of wine, but every bite's worth it. And he's still not ready to call it a night yet.

So he tugs her along a few blocks to one of the new bars Lila swore they'd love. The air's crisp, biting just enough that Sofia's fingers are cold when he slides her hand out of the back pocket of her jeans and locks it in his. He shoves both their hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, keeping her close as they weave through the sidewalk crowd.

She leans her head against his bicep, her hair brushing his sleeve, and they fall into an easy silence.

That little feeling of contentment—he feels it more and more lately. He thinks back to when he was at his lowest, putting on a hardened veneer that only effectively pushed away the people who, at the time, cared about him. The ones he loved.

Now? He's here. He's got a wife, a kid, and regular dinners with his sisters. He even hangs out with the Pogues more than his twenty-year-old self would've believed. After some long talks (and a few choice words of old wounds), Kelce and Topper have ended up closer to him than they ever were as teenagers.

The bar they stop at doesn't look like much from the street. A few couples and small groups hover outside, a green glow from inside spilling onto the sidewalk. From the outside, it's unassuming.

Rafe's lips twitch into a small smile as he holds the door for Sofia, letting go of her hand only to guide her inside with a touch to her back.

————————————

Golden light spills from the lights overhead, catching the bottles stacked behind the counter, until the entire wall glows a warm, amber hue. The air smells faintly of citrus and whiskey, voices mix with low music, blending into a soft buzz beneath the rattle of cocktail shakers and the occasional burst of laughter.

Couples lean close at the bar, heads tipped together. Groups of friends claim the high-top tables toward the back, shoulders bumping as they smile over their drinks. Nobody pays them much attention, and Sofia likes that.

Rafe's hand brushes hers as they weave through, his other hand automatically finding the small of her back. Guiding and protective. The habit makes her hide a small smile.

"Not bad," she murmurs, voice just for him.

His mouth curves into that almost-cocky half-smile. "Told you I'd pick a good one."

She slides onto a stool, the glow of the place wrapping around them. The night already feels theirs before it's even begun.

She tilts her head. "Wait—you picked this place out?"

"Yeah," he answers, shrugging too casually.

"I thought I overheard Lila raving about this place only just a week ago." She rests her smile against her hand on the bar.

Rafe rolls his eyes but stares her down. "Lila suggested it."

She lets his failed attempt at credit slide. "Well, then I know it's gonna be good."

A soft knock on the bar pulls their attention to the bartender—a young woman with a warm smile in the dim light.

"What can I get y'all?"

"Sof—" Rafe gestures for her to go first.

"I'll take a Sauvignon Blanc. Whichever you recommend," Sofia says.

"And I'll have a scotch on the rocks."

The bartender nods. "Coming right up."

As she walks off, Rafe drags his stool closer until their legs tangle. Sofia's eyes wander over the bar, taking in how everyone seems wrapped up in their own little worlds. When she looks back, he's leaning on the bar, still angled toward her but lost in thought, staring at some distant point just beyond her.

She lets herself watch him. The blond hair he's kept up with this past year and a half. The calm way he carries himself now—so different from the Rafe she met at twenty. Back then, he was all chaos and parties, destructive and restless. Sometimes she wonders if this quieter version will ever bore him.

Now, he owns Cameron Development. Calls his sisters just to talk. Hangs out with the Pogues like it's the most normal thing. He's grown, but she still worries.

Sofia slips her arm around his neck, threading her fingers into the hair at the back of his head.

"What's on your mind?"

His eyes blink back to her. "Huh?"

"What are you thinking about?"

He shakes his head quickly, leans in, and drops a short kiss on her lips. "Nothing."

"That was not nothing." She quirks a brow, shutting it down before he can argue. "Don't even. You were staring off, all broody and thoughtful."

"Broody and thoughtful?" He huffs a laugh.

"Yeah. Broody fits you. Thoughtful? That's the shocker."

"That's mean—"

"Here's your scotch, and here's your wine," the bartender interrupts gently, setting their drinks down with a smile.

They both smile back in thanks.

Sofia raises her glass. "To a night free of a baby."

Rafe clinks his against hers. "To you and me."

She rolls her eyes playfully, taking a sip as he tips his back.

"So?" she prods.

"So what?"

"What were you thinking about?"

He exhales slowly. "I'm happy."

It's said as a fact, simple but heavy.

Her smile grows, soft and slow. "Good. I'm happy too."

He shifts closer, his hand sliding lightly around her waist. "No, like… I'm happy."

Her eyes search his, catching the weight of what he means.

"Thank you.” He says slowly. “For caring. For staying. For everything."

"In the end, it was never even a question," she says, lifting her left hand and wiggling her ring finger. "I fell for the good—and maybe, unfortunately, the bad—but all of it."

His mouth quirks. "Not for the money?"

"The money helps."

He laughs, that full-bodied one that only comes out when he's relaxed—when he feels utterly safe. Sofia loves that sound. Loves knowing she can get it out of him.

They stay like that for who knows how long, laughing in their own little bubble. Hands resting on legs, waists, and necks. Random kisses stolen whenever they feel like it.

It's nice. Just them.

"I'll be right back," Rafe says eventually, heading toward the men's room and leaving her alone at the bar, waiting on her second glass of wine.

It arrives only moments later.

"Excuse me."

Sofia startles, glancing up. A man—maybe six feet, dark almost-black hair, green eyes that catch the low light—stands there with an easy grin. His sun-warmed skin is smooth, his posture relaxed, the kind of confidence that comes with practice. He passes behind her momentarily.

He's attractive. Sofia's secure enough to notice that. But the only man she wants to spend her night with is currently in the bathroom.

"Evening," she replies, polite but not inviting, fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass.

"What are you drinking?" The man comes to a stop on the other side of her.

"Wine."

He chuckles, leaning casually against the bar. "I gathered that. What kind?"

She arches an eyebrow. "Why?"

"So I know what to order you next," he says.

"Oh, no." Sofia's smile tightens. "That's okay. I'm actually married."

His gaze flicks down to her hand, catching the glint of her ring.

"I've heard women wear those to fend off men."

"Doesn't seem to be working," she mutters, taking a sip.

He laughs softly, unfazed. "How come you're here all alone, then—"

"She isn't," Rafe cuts in, voice smooth but sharp. He materializes behind her with a demanding presence. His hand ghosts over her hip before settling there, protective and subtly possessive. His gaze isn't subtle, though. It pins the guy in place. 

"Everything okay?" He directs it to her.

Sofia tilts her head up at him, calm. "Yeah," she assures.

The man glances between them, hands lifting in a slight shrug. "Sorry, man. Thought I saw a beautiful woman sitting at a bar alone and, y'know…"

Rafe's jaw ticks, a muscle jumping as his fingers press just slightly into her hip. That familiar energy simmers under his touch—the one where he's debating if it's worth letting his temper off the leash.

Sofia's hand slides over his, curling around his knuckles, anchoring him. His eyes drop to her touch before he exhales slowly through his nose.

"Sure," Rafe says, clipped but controlled.

The guy nods, taking the out. "I'll leave you both to it. Apologies." He disappears into the crowd.

Rafe's hand stays firm on her waist as he settles back onto his stool, tension still buzzing in his demeanor. Sofia leans into him, close enough to get his attention, even as his eyes track the man's retreat for a beat too long.

"Relax," she murmurs, lips brushing his jaw.

"I am relaxed," he mutters, though they both know better.

"Uh-huh. Sure."

She laughs, the sound airy. Rafe's arm snakes entirely around her waist this time, tugging her closer, and with his mouth brushing against her temple, he says lowly, "Not leaving you alone again."

"Good," she teases, tipping her glass back. "I secretly like it when you hover."

He huffs a laugh, kissing her hair, and this time, the tightness in his jaw is gone.

"Secret no more."

"I know a few ways to relax you," she says, voice laced with suggestion.

————————————

Rafe's hands grip her hips tightly, knuckles whitening as Sofia rocks against him, the rhythm stealing whatever control he thought he had. Their mouths stay fused together until he's forced to tear away, breathing her in with his forehead pressed to hers, every exhale shaky.

"What if we get caught?" he rasps, his voice low and strained.

"I'll tell them I tripped," she pants back, the subtle smile overtaking her face. Her lips graze his ear.

"Onto my dick? Yeah, that'll go over well with a jury," he grits out, but his smug smile betrays him, eyes dark as they drag over her.

"At least you'd have something to remember me by," she teases, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw.

His chuckle is cut short by a sharp inhale when her hips roll in just the right way. "Jesus, Sof…"

To say he got what he wanted tonight would be an understatement. He'd planned this night out of just them perfectly— dinner, drinks, every excuse to flirt with the love of his life like they were twenty-one again. Teasing glances over wine glasses and whispered words.

But this? His wife riding him in the backseat of his car, hair falling in loose waves around her flushed face, eyes dark with mischief as she bites back a smile? This wasn't on his radar, honestly.

He'd hoped, maybe, sure. Fantasized the second Sofia leaned close at the bar, lips brushing the shell of his ear with something wicked and soft. But he didn't expect her to actually follow through with her words, with this, albeit more reckless, choice to brazenly fuck in the parking lot.

The windows are fogged. The scent of her perfume lingers in the air, sweet and heady, blending with the leather and faint aroma of his cologne. Every creak of the seat beneath them feels deafening, every moan slipping from her lips igniting him.

She braces her hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there for leverage. His own grip tightens on her hips, guiding her rhythm as if he's the one in control.

He's not. Not when Sofia's looking at him like that.

Outside, life goes on. People laugh on the sidewalk. Cars pass. Music from the bars mingles into the night. None of it matters.

The only thing that matters is her—the way she gasps his name like a prayer, the way her head tips back when his hands slide up her spine to pull her flush against him, the way her lips find his again in a desperate, searing kiss.

Rafe groans into her mouth, the sound raw. "You're gonna kill me."

She laughs, breathless, the sound trembling against his lips. "You'd die happy."

The pace quickens, each movement rougher, more frantic, until the risk of being caught isn't a threat—it's fuel. They're chasing it, riding that edge together. When the world finally blurs out completely, they fall apart in each other's arms, bodies shaking, breaths mingling in the heavy air.

For a long moment, the only sound is the frantic pounding of their hearts. She collapses against his chest, her face tucked into his neck as his arms wrap around her, grounding them both.

Rafe presses a kiss into her hair, still catching his breath. "You're insane."

"You love it," she murmurs against his skin.

He smiles, lips curved against her temple. "I love you."

She hums, satisfied, and presses a lazy kiss to his throat. "Good"

He laughs, deep and low, still holding her close. "Pretty sure I can't move yet."

She shifts slightly in his lap, and he lets out a hiss, his hands tightening instinctively on her waist.

"Careful," Rafe mumbles, voice still rough.

She chuckles softly against his neck. "You're acting like I broke you."

"You did," he says without hesitation, head falling back against the seat as he tries to catch his breath. "You absolutely did."

Sofia laughs, her hand smoothing over his t-shirt, stopping over his heart. "Not bad for a mom who was in day-old pajamas a few hours ago, huh?"

He cracks an eye open, smirking at her. "You were hot in the pajamas, too. But this?" His thumb brushes over her cheekbone, tender even with his pulse still hammering. "I'm kinda obsessed with you."

She smiles, leaning into his hand. "You say that now. Wait until Jackson wakes up at three a.m."

"I'll handle it."

Her brows lift. "You will?"

He nods, brushing his lips over hers. "Yeah. Least I can do after you just ruined me in my own car."

She snorts, resting her forehead to his. "Ruined you? Dramatic much?"

"Destroyed. Shattered," Rafe teases, kissing her again, softer this time.

For a moment, the world is quiet. Just them in their little bubble of fogged-up windows and tangled limbs.

Sofia nuzzles into his shoulder. "Just don't expect this to become routine. Semi-public sex is truly not something I want on my non-existent record."

Rafe laughs, low and warm, his arms squeezing her closer. "Pretty sure you started this. You dragged me into the back."

"Ahh, but you didn't stop me."

"Like I ever would."

She hums, letting her fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I love you, you know."

He presses a kiss to her hairline, the words falling out easily. He’ll easily repeat them again and again. "I love you, too."

They linger like that, wrapped up in the calm of just being, until she finally shifts yet again with a sigh. "Okay. Let's get out of here before we actually do get caught."

Rafe groans but adjusts, his hands still stubbornly holding onto her hips. "Fine. But you're driving. I need to… recover."

"You're hopeless."

She laughs, sliding back into the passenger seat, shoving a leg into her jeans, and tossing him a look over her shoulder. He grins, righting himself and buttoning his pants back up, shooting her a smug little smirk.

"Hopelessly in love with you."

She maneuvers into the driver seat, starting the engine as he buckles himself into the passenger seat. Sick at the fact they can't wipe the same satisfied smiles off their faces. And as they pull away from the spot, the cool night air and the city lights glowing behind them make it feel like the perfect ending to a night just for them.

~~~~~

Topper's shirt is stained with spit-up when they get home, a clear sign that Jackson decided not to go easy on the poor guy.

__________________

Sofia discreetly snaps a picture from her lounger. He looks every bit the watchful dad-slash-uncle, engaged enough to keep the girls safe but undeniably annoyed.

“He’s doing his best,” she says through a smile. “Want to hit the bar?”

She lifts her empty margarita glass, the ice nearly melted from the Mexican heat.

“Yes, please,” Sarah replies, sipping the last of hers through a tiny straw.

“I’ll go see if Rafe wants me to grab him anything,” Sofia says, standing and stretching.

“Yep. I’ll finish the last three pages,” Sarah replies, holding up her beach read with a contented sigh.

Sofia’s bare feet sting against the sun-scorched concrete as she makes her way toward the resorts pool. The water’s a relief the second she steps in; cool and still, the kidney-shaped pool mimicking a beach’s gentle slope. It’s empty despite the midday hour and the fact that the beach is only a short minute walk away. The distant chatter of the beachgoers floating over the inner resort property.

She wades in carefully.

“You okay?” she asks, tapping a light finger on the top of Rafe’s head.

“No,” he drones, sounding bored to death.

“John B texted Sarah. They’ll be back in twenty.”

“How the fuck did this become my job?”

Sofia scoffs. “Oh no, watching your daughter in a pool in Mexico? Tragic.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Well, next time, you can take the boys to the beach,” she offers. 

“Don’t know how I drew the short straw on that one.”

She pouts at him, even if he’s not looking. His eyes are still on the girls.

“Well, your sister and I are heading back to the bar,” she says, backing away. “Want anythin—”

Suddenly, his arm wraps around her knees.

“What the hell?”

She clutches his head to keep from slipping, catching herself with a splash.

His grip tightens.

“If I’m stuck here, you’re stuck here.”

“Excuse me?” she laughs, half-scolding. “I came over to give you an update and offer to get you a cold one.”

“Exactly. And now, you’re mine.” He pulls on her hand with that familiar, crooked smirk.

“That’s not how this works.”

“Oh yeah? And exactly how—” He suddenly snaps his fingers toward the girls, who are now poking at what looks like a dying wasp floating in the water. “Girls! No. Get back over here.”

The girls scurry back to safer territory. He looks back up at Sofia. “How do you think this works? You get a free pass while I rot in kiddie pool hell? Nuh-uh.”

He tugs her hand again, more insistently.

With a quiet eye roll, she relents. Mostly because of the grip Rafe still has on her hand, but also because of the slight pout he probably doesn’t even realize he’s wearing.

She sits beside him, careful of the bumpy pool floor beneath her. The water’s refreshing, especially against the heavy summer heat clinging to her skin. His arm snakes around her waist and pulls her in tight.

“You know,” she teases, brushing her fingers lightly under the brim of his ridiculous hat, “you actually look kinda cute in this.”

“Is it doing something for you?” he smirks.

“You look... harmless.” She grins. “Which is wildly inaccurate.”

“Guilty,” he mutters, dry as ever. Sofia laughs, resting her chin on her forearm, which now lies across his shoulder, content to just watch him watch the girls.

Sarah eventually returns from the bar with three drinks in hand—and a small herd of children trailing behind her, along with John B, Pope, and Cleo.

Kiara and Darren follow minutes later with drinks from the bar of their own. 

However Shawn managed to convince his parents to celebrate his eleventh birthday at a resort in Mexico will forever escape her, even after everyone prodded the married couple for a coherent explanation as to why they’re spending hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars on this. 

But in all honesty, it’s been nice to get away, even as it involved wearing birthday hats last night at dinner, while the resort restaurant staff supplied the kids with the most pristine-looking chocolate cake.

Amid the chaos, she manages to convince Rafe to keep the hat on just long enough to wrangle Halley and Jackson for a photo.

She frames it and places it on the armoire when they get home a few days later. It’s one of her favorites. 

__________________

And honestly, for her and Rafe, it was a long-overdue escape from the chaos of raising a two-year-old. A chance to rejoin the land of adult conversation—no diaper bags, no snacks in Ziplocs, no Bluey in the background. Just adults.

Dani and Kelce flew down from New York City to attend, promising to bring "proper entertainment."

But somehow, out of all the people mingling about, mainly of the Kook variety except for the random few she's overheard oohing and awing. No doubt Pogues like her that happened upon a Kook willing to slum it. Rafe insists that's not at all what it is, but she's gonna call a spade a spade.

Still, she's not complaining. She's currently childless for the night, drinking wine and at least having normal adult conversations with people other than Rafe, as much as she does love him. It's a rare, welcome shift.

And she feels good tonight. Curls frame her face, soft against her skin, the rest of her hair twisted into a claw clip she threw together in a minute that somehow looks editorial. The red dress she chose clings in all the right places—cowl neck dipping just enough to tease attention, silky fabric skimming her waist before falling into a dramatic slit at her thigh.

She feels like herself. Not "mom." Just Sofia, a twenty-something, heels clicking and wine swirling. The shoes hurt, but her mom—and every woman over forty-five—would say, no pain, no gain.

And Rafe didn't even bat an eye when she walked out this evening.

"Sof," Lila's voice calls behind her before she rounds the corner, extending a fresh glass of red. "You need a refill."

She accepts it gratefully, taking a sip. 

"Honestly, didn't think we’d get this big of a turnout."

"It's a very hopping party," Sofia muses, watching the bodies float between conversations.

"Hopefully, the neighbors don't mind. But we're far enough away from them, and if they do, Topper would probably just invite them over."

"Only you would stress about a successful turnout," Sofia teases.

"I was more worried about the bites—"

"Which are fantastic. Rafe had to tug me away from the pimento croquettes. I swear, if I could fill my body with those, I would. And y’know what? I'd die happy."

In Sofia's seriousness, Lila still laughs. 

"Then please eat more. We paid enough for the catering that I'd rather it all be devoured by someone."

"Don't tell Rafe, and you've got yourself a deal."

"Hey, Lila," a voice cuts in. A man about their age, maybe a year younger—tousled brown hair, pressed slacks, polished boots, a cranberry-red button-down with just enough buttons undone to exude confidence.

His friend is nearly a shadow with short-cropped, dark hair, a deep-blue shirt, and a blazer.

"Owen! Brayden!" Lila smiles brightly.

"Hey, Lila." Brayden, the one in the blazer, says with a grin, eyes locking onto Sofia. "Forgive me, but I feel like I'd remember the name of a gorgeous woman like yourself."

She's not not flattered. But strange men coming on strong isn't her favorite. Still, they're easy on the eyes. Green flag-ish. If she were single, maybe three drinks in...

Lila cuts in before she has to respond, placing a steady hand on Sofia's forearm. "This is my friend, Sofia—"

"Sofia," Owen echoes with a grin. "What a lovely name for a lovely woman."

She quirks a brow. "Lucky me. Guess I should be glad my parents didn't name me Kate."

What? Like other names are ugly? Is she chopped liver if she were a Jessica or a Sam?

They laugh anyway like she just delivered the best punchline. Lila side-eyes her knowingly.

"How's the office?" Lila asks.

"Busy till a week ago. Holiday cheer slows everything down," Owen answers.

"Topper mentioned that, too."

"You guys still heading to New York soon?" Owen asks, sipping his drink, eyes darting back to Sofia just a second too long.

"Next week. Top's parents are in Aspen. Mine went to Italy. Spending it with friends instead."

God, Sofia would love to go. See Dani and Kelce, ring in the New Year in the City. But hauling around a toddler at Christmas? No thanks. Spring was the plan—when crowds thin and the weather softens.

"Staying through New Year's?" Owen follows up.

"Yeah. Dani's parents have a place near Times Square. Private bathroom and everything." Lila winks.

They all laugh on cue.

"So, Sofia," Brayden turns to her, "what do you do?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, your day-to-day?"

"I teach classes. At the Civic Center."

"Classes?" Owen asks as if he's learning about her for a pop quiz.

"Art," she clarifies.

"An artist." Owen nods, like granting approval. "You must be talented."

"She's unbelievably talented," Lila chimes in, and Sofia could kiss her.

"Maybe you could show us sometime?" Brayden adds, smirk in tow.

Sofia takes a slow sip of wine with her left hand, letting the light hit the diamond on her finger.

"I don't really showcase it often."

Either they miss the ring or choose to. Great.

"Well, if your work is as beautiful as you…" Owen says, his leer now unmistakable. Brayden's not much better.

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

Lila goes to step in again, but Sofia beats her to it. "Chasing my toddler."

Owen's brows lift. "Didn't think you had one. You don't really give off mom."

There's a beat.

Then she smiles. "I'll take that as a compliment. But yeah—he calls me Mommy and throws bananas when he's pissed. Surprise."

Brayden laughs like she's kidding. "You're messing with me."

"I'm really not."

Brayden raises a brow. "So the ring's real?"

"So you did notice," she says, taking another sip, lifting her hand just a little higher.

"Your husband's a lucky guy."

"I am," a voice cuts in.

Rafe.

A hand slides to her hip, warm and steady, and Rafe materializes next to her, pulling her into his side.

"Rafe Cameron," Owen nearly stammers.

"In the flesh." Rafe lifts his scotch and offers a placating smile before he tips it back slowly.

Rafe's Kildare infamy precedes him. 

His fingers tighten slightly against the silk of her dress. She leans into him, shifting on her heels.

"Topper's coworkers?" Rafe asks flatly.

"Yeah," Brayden confirms, trying to stand taller. Still shorter than Rafe. 

"Personal injury," he adds.

Owen smirks, "Divorce lawyer. Family disputes, mostly."

A subtle jab, maybe. Rafe doesn't blink.

"So you can spot a married woman, huh?" Rafe muses, lifting his brow and his glass.

"Something like that," Owen replies, gaze thinning.

"Well," Lila cuts in, voice sweet and sharp. "It was great seeing you both. I'm sure Topper would love to catch up—"

"He's out back," Rafe says, nodding in that direction.

Lila smiles gratefully. "Out back," she echoes.

"Nice meeting you," Brayden says to Sofia.

Rafe's hand curls tighter at her hip.

"You too," Sofia replies, a polite smile intact.

As the two men turn, they carry less swagger than they arrived with.

"That was… interesting," Lila says once they're out of earshot.

Rafe doesn't respond.

Sofia tips her wine toward Lila. "Entertaining, at least."

Lila clinks her glass with Sofia's, then excuses herself to find Topper.

Rafe stays quiet, his hand still warm on her hip, fingers lightly pressing into the silk.

She glances up, curious.

He finishes his drink, sets it on a nearby table, then lets his hand trail down her arm, twines their fingers together, and tugs her gently toward the stairs.

_____________________

Rafe pushes her against the door of the guest bathroom on the second floor. Her hand flails back, catching the knob, and both of them stumble backward into the room. He flicks on the light with one hand, then spins them around, pushing her into the closed door. The lock turns under his fingers like butter.

Their lips crash together—heated, hungry. Rafe's hands twist into the silky red fabric at her hips. She lets out a breathy moan when his mouth trails along her jaw, down to the pulse at her neck, sucking just enough to leave a mark. She shivers under him. Her hips push forward, seeking friction.

Rafe wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her hard against him until there's no space left. His other hand slides down her dress—slow, deliberate—until he reaches the slit. His fingers dip beneath, gliding up the inside of her thigh, and she gasps when he finds her already soaked.

His breath hitches at the sound she makes—high, desperate, just for him. He presses his forehead to hers for a beat, trying to ground himself. Still, her hands are already tugging his blazer off his shoulders, her body melting into his touch.

He teases her, slow and rhythmic, until her knees nearly buckle. She bites her lip to stay quiet, but he feels the tension in her frame and sees it in the way her eyes flutter shut.

"You're killing me," she whispers.

He huffs against her mouth. "You started it."

She smirks, but it falters quickly, jaw slackening again when he works her a little faster. Her hips roll into his hand, chasing the rhythm, breath uneven.

Then, she grabs the back of his neck, pulling him into another kiss. Her lips crash into his, teeth catching his bottom lip and tugging just enough to make him stumble a step back. A low groan escapes his throat.

He damn near loses it right there.

God, this woman.

"Sofia," he warns, low.

She just smiles in his face.

He growls softly, yanking the clip from her hair and tossing it aside. His fingers dive into the mess of curls, hand warm and possessive at the base of her skull.

She fucking whines. His pants get tighter.

Damn her.

He pivots quickly, walking her backward toward the vanity, curling his body over hers. Their mouths stay fused, feverish.

Her arms wrap tight around his shoulders, fingers buried in his hair—or whats left of it after he decided to buzz it all off again—like she wants him even closer, like she wants to undo him.

He hoists her up onto the counter, dress sliding up her thighs as her legs hook around his waist. A perfect fit. Always.

God, this fucking woman. 

Their kiss turns ravenous. Sofia bites at his lip again and grinds softly against the bulge in his slacks. He helps her undo his belt, yanking his pants down far enough to breathe. Just enough.

He doesn't waste a second.

He finds her and sinks in, relishing the sharp gasp, the way her whole body tenses, grips, and welcomes him.

His eyes find his reflection in the mirror, blue eyes staring back. Some sick satisfaction overcomes him as he starts to drive into her. Her hand clenched white-knuckle tight on the counter's edge. Her other hand clutches the back of his neck. The red silk twists in his grip as her back arches.

"Rafe—" she pants.

God, it's everything.

He feels her edging closer, her grip on his hair tightening. He slips a hand around her waist, fingers dipping between them, teasing her just right as he keeps driving into her.

She shudders, breath ragged, whispering his name like a prayer. Her body clenches down, hips jerking, her whole frame going rigid around him.

A breathy moan breaks free from her lips.

He doesn't stop—he keeps going, chasing his own high as she clings to him in every way she can. Her nails scrape his back. Her mouth finds his shoulder. Her heartbeat thunders against his chest.

That's all it takes.

He groans into her neck, hips jerking one final time as it hits him. Hard.

His forehead rests on her shoulder, his breath coming in broken gasps as he rides it out. Just the sound of their breathing and the too-bright bathroom lights above them now.

He stays there for a moment, face pressed to her skin, kissing it softly.

"Sorry," he murmurs.

Her head shifts, her breath warm against his ear. "What?"

"I just fucked you in Topper's bathroom—"

"Guest bathroom," she corrects quickly. "Calling it Topper's makes it weird."

"Okay. I just fucked you in Topper’s guest bathroom while he hosts strangers downstairs."

She smirks. "Was I too quiet?" Her legs tighten again around his waist, pulling him in deeper. "Go again. I can be louder."

He hopes she's joking.

Or maybe he doesn't.

He pulls back, meeting her mischievous gaze. "Sof—"

"I didn't exactly say no. Pretty sure I encouraged it." Her arms loop around his neck. "Best thirty seconds of my life."

He rolls his eyes, and she laughs, bright and unbothered.

"Don't," he groans, ducking his head into her neck again, nipping the already raw skin. That spot's definitely going to bruise.

And that was not thirty seconds. More like five minutes… at least.

"I'm kidding," she hums, fingers dragging gently down his scalp. "Though not to overanalyze… that one felt personal."

"What can I say? My girl looks fucking hot tonight."

"As opposed to every other night?" she teases.

"You could be in bunny shorts or this red dress. Either way... you've got me."

She cackles—he loves it. That real, open laugh that only comes when she feels completely herself.

He steps back, rebuttoning his pants and adjusting his blazer as she smooths out her dress. She's trying to redo her hair with the clip he carelessly tossed.

"You didn't like what happened downstairs, did you?" she asks, fiddling with the clip.

"You noticed."

"I mean…" she bites her lip and meets his gaze in the mirror. "The fingers digging into my hip. The keeping me close."

"Okay—"

"The fucking me in your best friend's guest bathroom immediately after."

"I didn't like the way that guy was eye-fucking you," he admits, jaw tight.

She turns him toward her, arms sliding around his neck. "Good thing I'm happily married. Totally in love—and lust—with one Rafe Cameron."

"Lucky man."

"The luckiest." She pulls him down into a kiss, lingering, sweet. A reminder.

"I love you," she whispers, eyes scanning his like she needs to make sure he hears it.

He cups her cheek, thumb stroking her skin. "I love you, Sof. So fucking much."

She smiles. Another kiss. This one makes his stomach flip.

She pulls back, playful again. "You know if I didn't get pregnant after that... I don't know what else you're gonna have to do."

"You did offer round two."

"Definitely not here." She shivers under his hands. 

He smirks. "Car's just a street over."

"And risk getting arrested for public indecency? No thanks." She opens the bathroom door, motioning for him to follow.

He chuckles, trailing her. "You weren't worried about that when you dragged me into the back of my car ten separate times over the last year and a half?"

"Desperate times, babe," she tosses back.

~~~~~

She totally lets him go down on her in the back of the car two days later, after date night.

__________________

“Hey! I’m well within my right to call you that. You are, in fact, a hot mom.”

“Well, at least refrain for today.” She yawns. “What are you doing?”

“Working out,” he jokes with a laugh. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Looks like you started cooking and didn’t wake me up to help.”

“You had a long night. Don’t complain about an extra thirty minutes of sleep.”

Her hand trails up his back, rubbing small circles as she stands entirely too close. He won’t complain.

“Thank you.” Her head lays gently on his arm. She silently watches while he gently—and if he doesn’t say so himself, rather expertly—flips one of the pancakes currently cooking to fluffy, golden brown.

Skills you learn when you have a three-year-old you have to keep fed regularly.

Suddenly, a cry breaks through the baby monitor. She kisses his arm once before padding upstairs. A few moments later, the monitor quiets. Her soft coo slips through before it clicks off.

He scoops three pancakes onto the plate warmer, then pours the next round of batter. He hears two sets of footsteps.

“Daddy.” The squeal of his son greets him. Sometimes, Rafe doesn’t even need coffee. Just the happy screech of his son, and he’s wide awake.

With all the love, that is.

“Mornin’ bud. Keep your voice down—it’s still way too early.”

“Cakes.” It’s like Jack didn’t even hear him.

Rafe checks the pan, then scoops the little guy up. Jack wraps around him easily, watching the bubbling batter with wide eyes.

Sofia returns carrying a sleepy-looking ten-month-old Halley and gently deposits her in her baby activity center.

“Did you start—”

“The coffee?”

“That.”

“Of course I did.”

A few minutes later, and tiny hands to the face at random times later, Sofia perches herself next to the stove, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands, and a look of pure joy in her eyes as she takes a sip.

“We need to try that other blend Kiara got us.”

“I’m holding out.”

“Why?”

“So every time she asks if we’ve tried it yet, I can say we haven’t gotten through our current bag.”

“That was three bags ago.” Sofia furrows her brows.

“Exactly.”

“Rafe.” She admonishes, setting her cup aside and taking a squirming Jack out of his arms. Jack happily settles into her lap, watching Rafe flip another pancake—golden brown... again.

“I like keeping her guessing.”

“I want to try it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He fake salutes and gets a light punch to the bicep. Jack follows suit, laughing at the violence. Sofia’s a bad influence.

“Hellooo,” comes a far too excited voice from the foyer. A few giggles and a “calm down” from Pope follow.

“Sare-bear!” Jackson shouts, wiggling free of Sofia and running around the island toward the commotion.

Rafe quickly flips the batch before turning to find his sister, very much pregnant, attempting to lean over and give Jackson a big hug.

Pope and John B follow, the latter holding a still bleary-eyed almost four-year-old Shawn. Pope laughs at something John B must’ve said before they both turn in greeting.

“Hey, dude,” John B nods.

Much to his surprise, Pope walks around the kitchen island and supplies Rafe with a quick bro hug. Moving onto Sofia, who squeezes the pogue just a bit tighter. 

Sarah’s voice carries across the room. “Hello, precious,” she coos at a smiley Halley, bouncing happily in her activity center. Easily—just as expected—Sarah picks up the more-than-willing baby and gently sways her on her hip.

“Where’s Cleo—” Sofia starts before the woman herself bursts in from the foyer, carrying her cranky-looking two-year-old.

“Can I use your—”

“Please. You can use anything you need,” Sofia answers immediately.

Cleo shoots a grateful look and barrels upstairs. No doubt someone had a blowout.

“I told Cleo not to feed Riles yogurt yesterday. Pretty sure the poor thing’s developed sudden lactose intolerance.” Pope sighs. “Anytime we feed her dairy…”

“Cutting back?” Rafe asks.

“Trying to.”

John B sets Shawn down next to an excited Jack. Being only a few months apart, they’re pretty inseparable. “Shawn got like that around a year and a half. We just cut it for a while and slowly brought it back.”

“That’s what the pediatrician said, too,” Pope agrees. “Just hard when the girl loves herself some cheese.”

“Don’t we all,” Sarah sighs.

“Uncle Rafe?”

Carter startles him, staring up with those big brown Cameron eyes from his and Sarah’s mom’s side.

“Hey, buddy.” Rafe picks him up easily.

“Mommy said I wasn’t allowed to ask her for chocolate milk but said that if I asked you, you’d give in.”

Rafe glares over at a playfully guilty-looking Sarah.

“Cars,” Sarah chastises lightly. “You weren’t supposed to say all that.”

Carter shrugs with a “how was I supposed to know” look. Rafe chuckles. The kid’s too smart for his own good.

“I want choco milk,” Shawn appears below him.

“Me too,” Jack echoes.

Suddenly, he’s surrounded.

“Why me?”

“Cause you give in too easily,” Sofia replies from her perch.

Rafe playfully pretends to poke her side, and she flinches.

“Flip my pancakes,” he directs her.

She chuckles and hops to the floor, stepping over to do just that.

Rafe carries Carter to the fridge and sets him down gently. Like three little ducklings, lined up under him. He busies himself, pouring three sippy cups of chocolate milk—thankfully, he remembered to pick some up yesterday.

Ten years ago, he would’ve rolled his eyes. Now? He stops at the store for applesauce pouches and Uncrustables.

He’s that guy now.

Kids.

“I heard they’re doing major renovations at the Yacht Club because of that guy,” John B says.

“The fact that you day drink hard enough to plow your golf cart through the country club is a whole ‘nother level,” Pope mutters.

“I heard they tried to arrest him,” Sarah adds, “but couldn’t because he’s the nephew of a governor or something.”

“The sheriff’s office had to apologize even though the video of him doing it has thousands of views,” Sofia says, flipping a pancake like a pro.

He’s proud.

“Cameron Development put in a bid,” Rafe notes, handing out the chocolate milk. The boys scatter like bugs.

“Did you get it?” Sarah asks curiously.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

John B snorts. “Humble as always, Rafe.”

Rafe holds out his hands like he can’t help it.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Cleo says as she steps back downstairs with a much happier Riley. “I swear Riles was ready to rip my head clean off.”

“Need anything else?” Sofia asks, abandoning the pan as Rafe nears, instead skirting around the island toward Riley, who reaches for her.

“Nah,” Cleo says, handing her daughter off, “again, thank you.”

“No worries,” Sofia murmurs, bouncing Riley on her hip like she’s done it a thousand times.

“Where do you want the casserole?” John B asks, stepping up beside them.

“Oven’s heating—stick it in there for now.”

“Can I move a few things for the parfaits?” Cleo calls from the fridge.

“Move whatever,” Sofia replies, still lightly dancing around the kitchen with Riley in her arms.

“Hello, hello?” comes a cautious voice from the foyer.

“Kie!” Sarah lights up, bouncing Halley, who claps excitedly.

“Aunt Kie!” Carter shouts, taking a running start toward the front door. A giggling umph follows as Shawn and Jack barrel after him.

Kiara comes hobbling in, Carter in her arms and the other two clinging to her legs. Darren trails behind with containers of food.

“We came with more than we probably needed,” Darren announces, setting them on the island.

“Good honest work, Darren,” Sarah says, patting his back. She’s already eyeing the food like she hasn’t eaten all day. Rafe’s pretty sure she had a pre-breakfast before packing the kids up.

“Pancakes are almost done.”

The room buzzes—laughing kids, overlapping conversations, the occasional clatter of a dish.

Rafe flips the last pancake, slides it onto the plate, and kills the heat.

He leans back against the counter, coffee in hand, watching the chaos unfold—Jack trying to barter bites off Shawn’s plate, Sarah talking too loudly, John B smirking like he’s thinking something funny, and Sofia...

She’s smiling, still bouncing Riley like it’s second nature.

He takes a sip and lets the noise roll over him.

A mess, sure. But a mess he’s slowly come to enjoy.

Not bad for a Sunday.

__________________

"I didn't want to."

"Exactly. You never do. You only ever do what you want."

"In what world—"

"Don't even," she says, voice rising. "What in the world were you thinking? I'll tell you—you weren't. And for what?"

"I was defending y'all."

"And that's great, Rafe, it is," she says, her volume rising with every word, "but there is a difference between stepping in and blowing up."

"You act like I threw a punch."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she scoffs. "Forgive me for not giving you a gold star because you didn't get a chance to throw a punch because Kelce and Topper stepped in."

His face hardens, a flicker of disbelief cutting through him.

"So instead, you revert to Rafe Cameron of ten years ago," she spits. "Go off the handle because someone said something you didn't like. Threaten someone's well-being."

"Seriously?" he snaps, taking a step closer. "You really think that's who I am?"

"Tell me it was any different," she dares, eyes burning into his.

"It is fucking different," he growls.

"No, it wasn't." Her voice is tight. Too many emotions are riding under the surface now—fear, anger, disappointment. "God, do you think at all before you act? Or are you just willing to go down with whatever ship you find?"

His silence is the only answer she needs.

"We should go. That'd be so much fun," Sofia grinned, tucking her chin into her hand.

"I know. Wyatt would love to hang out with his best friend for a whole week," Danella chimed in, her smile bright. "I'll look up places tomorrow and send you some."

"Where are we going?" Lila slid into the booth, cheeks flushed, holding a cocktail that looked too pretty to drink.

"Beach trip down south. Or maybe even a Disney trip?" Sofia smiles at an equally conspiratorial Dani. 

"Sorry to interrupt—"

Suddenly, two guys materialized next to their table, dressed like they knew they looked good—tailored button-downs, sun-kissed skin, just enough stubble to make it intentional.

They would fit perfectly into Kildare society. 

But the gaze in their eyes was off. A bit on the sleazy 'we've already won' kinda look. Sofia shivered.

One of them continues, flashing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But you three are kind of hard to ignore."

Sofia glanced up, polite but cool. "We're good, thanks."

"Oh, c'mon," the other guy said, leaning too close to Lila. "We're just trying to be friendly. Girls like you shouldn't be left alone."

Danella shifted. "We're not alone." If two adult men couldn't clock that all three wore wedding rings on their left hand, then Sofia really has no hope for the male race going forward. 

"Don't need to be so cold," the first guy said, eyes locking on Sofia now, eyes more bloodshot now that Sofia can see them more clearly. They're wasted, swaying slightly in their spots. "You look like you know how to have fun."

"I don't need your help figuring that out," Sofia said evenly.

He chuckled. "Bet you'd loosen up with someone who knows how to handle you."

Her stomach churns.

"Excuse me," Dani scoffs, her hand gripping her glass in awe.

"You ever get tired of pretending you're too good for anyone?" The other guy added with a smirk, hand braced against the table and leaning in, eyes raking over her. "Bet you're a lot less uptight once the clothes come off."

Sofia froze, but the words hadn't fully landed before the mood shifted. Because Rafe was already there, stepping in between her and the man standing over her. Every muscle in his body wound like a spring.

"You wanna say that again?" Rafe asked, his voice low in a way that made it worse.

The taller guy looked him over, unimpressed. "What's your problem, man?"

"You don't talk to her like that. Better yet, you don't talk to any of them. Ever."

The shorter one snorted, swaying. "You her bodyguard or something?"

"Rafe," she starts, "it's okay. Leave it."

"Yeah, 'Rafe', listen to the lady," the first guy smirks, "we're all friends here."

"Far from it." Rafe retorts. Kelce and Topper make their way over. She tries to place a comforting hand on Rafe's forearm, but it doesn't help. 

Then the first one leaned in with a smirk and muttered loud enough for Sofia to catch it, "Relax, man. We were just looking for a good fuck."

She felt it. The energy coming off Rafe in angered waves, exploding. 

He shoved the guy hard. The man flew back into a stool, nearly toppling over. Glass cracked in his hand, blood rushing out. Voices shouted.

"Are you fucking serious?" the guy barked, lunging toward Rafe.

He barely moved, angry but keen enough to dodge the flying fist. Rafe shoves the guy again, fist at the ready.

Topper and Kelce stepped in, pulling Rafe back as another few random patrons grabbed at the taller guy. The short one just sneered.

"Back off," Kelce directs to the guy, pushing him back toward his restrained friend.

"He needs to get his fucking hands off people—" the guy started, but Topper cut him off.

"You need to shut the fuck up or leave."

Kelce keeps Rafe contained, even as Rafe pushes forward to continue whatever brash decision he's already made. 

She dodges out of the booth easily, skirting around the people who've gathered, dozens of eyes watching, wanting to be anywhere but.

Danella's voice cuts in before Rafe can say another word.

"Sofia."

She turns, barely, just enough to see Danella holding both their purses, concern etched across her face. Topper and Kelce are outside, Lila trailing behind them, glancing back once at whatever commotion is still occurring in the bar.

The tension breaks, not because it should, but because it has to.

Sofia exhales, shaky and cold, and looks back to Rafe.

"I want to go home."

He doesn't say anything. Just watches her like she'd knocked the wind out of him.

Good.

She turns before he can gather himself enough to come up with a retort. There's nothing else to say that won't crack them further apart.

The car ride is quiet. Not the calm kind. Not like with kids sleeping in the back or the ocean rolling past the windows. This is loaded silence. The kind where everything they don't say screams the loudest.

Rafe's grip on the steering wheel is too tight, his knuckles taut in the darkness. But he doesn't look at her. Doesn't try to explain. Maybe he's too hurt for that.

And she's too mad to care.

The drive isn't long, but it stretches anyway. Long enough for her heart rate to come down, but not enough to untangle everything she still wants to scream.

__________________

He pulls into the driveway without a word and cuts the engine. The porch light flickers, something Sofia asked him to fix two days ago, yet it still casts eerie shadows over the front porch.

Sofia doesn't wait. She's out of the car before he fully shifts into park, grabbing her purse from the back seat and heading for the front door without glancing back.

Rafe lingers momentarily, running a hand over his face before stepping out and following. He unlocks the door and lets her step in, flipping the deadbolt behind him. Then, quietly, he sets the keys on the counter with a soft clink that feels louder than it should.

"Hey, Steph," Sofia says, her voice forced into something softer as she steps further into the house.

Stephanie, their seventeen-year-old babysitter from two houses down, offers a warm smile as she steps lightly off the last stair, phone in hand. "Hey! How was it?"

"Fine." Sofia musters a tired smile in return. "How were they?"

"Amazing as always," Stephanie says, adjusting her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Halley is a little bubble of energy these days."

"I can't believe she's already two," Sofia replies, her voice dipping to something almost wistful.

"I know," Steph laughs. "She kept pretending she was a puppy for a solid hour. Didn't break character once."

Sofia lets out a quiet, genuine laugh. It almost hurts to hear. "That sounds about right."

"Jacky fell asleep watching that dinosaur movie. I left the sound low in case he wakes up confused."

"Thank you," Sofia says, walking over to the counter and grabbing a folded one-hundred-dollar bill from the ceramic dish near the sink. She hands it over.

"You guys are seriously the best," Steph grins, sliding the money into her bag. "Text me whenever."

Rafe gives her a nod. "Thanks for staying late."

"Of course." Steph waves, then slips out the front door with a quiet click.

The house falls back into silence.

Sofia doesn't move right away. She just stands there, still facing the front door, fingers gripping the edge of the counter.

Behind her, Rafe shifts his weight like he's trying to decide whether to say something.

But she doesn't give him the chance.

"I'm going to check on them," she says over her shoulder, already walking toward the stairs. "You can lock up."

Before she disappears upstairs, he hears her call softly, "feel free to sleep on the couch," leaving Rafe alone in the kitchen again—silence.

~~~~~

"Daddy." A voice breaks him from his thoughts.

"Hey, buddy." Rafe sighs softly at Jack, who currently rubs his sleepy eyes and clutches his dinosaur plush in his arms. A Stegosaurus they got at a museum somewhere. "What're you doing down here?"

"I herwd noises. What're you doing?"

Rafe sighs, standing straight from his work of prepping the couch. "I'm just gonna take a little nap down here."

"Why?" 

Of course, his kid would be nosey at five. All he's ever known is that his mom and dad sleep in the same room. In the same bed that he sometimes crawls into when there is a particularly bad thunderstorm on hot summer nights.

"Because—" he doesn't really know how to conceptualize his and Sofia's current predicament to his five-year-old son. How does one explain it away? "I'm getting up early and don't want to wake mom."

That outta tide his son's curiosity over. Hopefully. 

He drops the sheet he's currently fitting to the couch to kneel in front of his son. Pulling him in for a hug and plastering a kiss to the kid's head, he urges, "Go back to bed, buddy."

"Okay." His little voice agrees, turning to step his way back up the stairs towards his room. 

Last time Rafe was on the couch was in Mexico. He never thought he'd truly make it back to this. That he and Sofia would get mad enough at one another to force this. 

~~~~~

"Rafe."

It's Sofia. He doesn't know how long he's been staring at the back of the couch, begging sleep to come, but it couldn't have been that long if Sofia is still awake too. 

He almost doesn't want to turn around. But he does. He always will. 

"Yeah." His voice is low. 

"You awake?" 

She knows he is. He knows she’s really asking if he’s up for whatever’s coming next.

"Yeah."

She shuffles closer and he pulls himself to a seated position, forearms resting lazily across his knees, fingertips brushing together in a nervous fidget.

He's just not sure how much more energy he has for today.

"I'm sorry." Her voice is soft. She sniffles just once in the quiet dark of the night. "I'm sorry." She repeats, stopping at the edge of his makeshift bed.

He doesn't speak yet. Slightly too startled that this is how this interaction is starting more so than anything. 

Her hand reaches out, fingers threading into his hair, running back and over his head. His hands reach out to steady her when she kneels onto the couch, moving to straddle his lap. Sofia wraps her arms around his neck softly, pressing herself into the crook of his neck with a sigh.

"I shouldn’t have said all that. I was angry, and I didn’t even believe what I said."

He tucks his head into her shoulder before breathing out, "Then why say it at all?"

She sighs, pulling away just so, cupping his face between her hands. He shivers from the coolness of them.

"I let my frustration take over. Rafe," she implores, "I need you to listen to me in those situations. I need you to not fly off the handle... not shove someone just because some douchebag says something vulgar while wasted."

"I'm not gonna apologize for defending you."

"I don’t—" Sofia huffs softly, " I don't want you to. But I need you to not get physical. He was bleeding. If you'd gotten arrested for assault…"

He can't argue with that one. He never needed to put his hands on anyone, regardless of how angry the coward's words made him. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to scare you."

"Promise me you'll regulate your emotions next time. At least try to. Use your words." She shakes his head softly. "Use that Cameron glare. Just don't try to start a fight."

"Promise." He agrees softly. A beat or two longer of silence.

"And y'know," she adds, her voice still gentle, urging, "I don't think you're still the Rafe of ten years ago. I wouldn't be here if I believed one second of that. And I want to be here. Every day."

He nods silently. Part of him still thinks back to all the shit he got himself into. That, regardless of how far away he tries to get himself from the coked-up coward version of himself, it lingers. Forever in someone's mind. And that it has to linger at all in Sofia's sucks. 

"I love you," she says. 

He swallows, his hands tightening around her waist, "I love you too."

They share a kiss… or two. Totally docile and sweet. Sofia wraps her arms around his back, plastering herself to him, burrowing her head into his shoulder. 

He curls her up, leaning back and taking her with him. She shifts, settling against him, nuzzling her nose into his shoulder, head moving to rest against his bicep. 

Sleep easily takes over. 

~~~~~

He senses he's being watched before he even stirs. Before his eyes even open.

Shifting back, he's stopped by the couch, no more room to go back, to find space. Stretching his legs is even harder, what with the pair of tanned, smooth ones currently tangled with his. 

Slowly, he blinks open, his eyes adjusting to the morning light. The sun casts pinks and yellows into the house. It can't be any later than 7:30 am. 

Blue eyes peer at him curiously. 

He cracks a stiff, morning smile, whispering, "Hey, bud. What's up?"

"I want chocolate milk."

"Okay. We'll get you some in just a bit."

"Okay." His son responds. 

Rafe tries to shift, but it's hard with Sofia and her dark brown curls occupying his left arm. He doesn't want to move her. But he also can't help but take a moment to admire how her long eyelashes brush against her cheekbones. Her lips parted slightly as she almost hums contentedly in her slumber. The rise and fall of her chest against his. 

He holds her lower back with his free hand and manages to maneuver his occupied arm's hand to brush some hair about to fall into her face. It unfortunately stirs his wife awake. 

"Mmm." She hums. 

He smiles lazily. 

"Morning," he greets softly. 

Her eyes flutter open, a moment spent taking in her surroundings before her eyes close, and a smile brushes her lips. 

"Mornin'," she mumbles. 

"Sleep well?"

"Best in a long time." She admits with a cheeky grin.

"Happy for you," he jokes, "got kneed in the balls only twice."

She laughs silently, "Sorry." Her voice croaks out with sleep. "Did you get any?"

He smiles down at her. "Always." He leans down, their lips meeting in a sweet kiss, then one more. And then one more after that. He briefly opens his eyes, looking past Sofia. 

"We've got an audience." He murmurs against her lips softly, gaze locked on the same blue of their son. 

Sofia lifts up on an elbow to turn ever so slightly, finally relieving his bicep of her weight. He's not complaining.

"Hey baby." 

Jackson still stares at them like he wants something.

"What's wrong, mijo?" Sofia asks sleepily, a short yawn following. 

"Why are you and Daddy on the couch?"

Rafe can't help but snicker. Sofia matches his amusement with a roll of her eyes and a smile before she does the motherly thing—

"Because mommy and daddy just couldn't stay away from one another, and mommy needed daddy to know that."

"Oh." His voice is a bit uninterested. No doubt that promised chocolate milk is the only thing in his child's brain.

"C'mere buddy," Sofia beckons with a smile. 

Jack complies, stepping up to the couch. Sofia grabs onto their son's chin softly, pulling his face toward her, depositing random kisses to his cheeks and forehead, wherever she can reach, as Jack curls into it with laughter, eyes squeezed and a bright smile on his face. 

Rafe chuckles. 

Sofia pulls away, "Love you, mijo."

"Love you too." Jack leans forward to place a quick peck on Sofia's temple. 

"Come cuddle," she states, turning over as Jack decides to climb over them. 

"Ow." Rafe vocalizes as Sofia's elbow digs into his ribs for a moment. 

"Sorry, baby." She easily throws out as she and Jack figure out the most comfortable position. Which happens to be him at the bottom of it all. 

But the weight is comforting. Rafe shifts slightly, wrapping an arm under his wife to ensure she stays put, moving Jackson's knee, which is dangerously close to kneeing him in the same spot his mom did twice in the night.

He shoves his nose into Jack's soft brown hair, the scent of children's strawberry shampoo. The weight of Sofia's head on his shoulder. The warmth surrounding him.

He wouldn't change this for the world.

__________________

"Sof?" Sarah's voice softens, tinged with concern.

"Yeah?"

"You okay?"

Sofia exhales shakily before pasting on a smile. "Yeah."

Sarah studies her for a beat. "You're not leaving my brother, right?"

Sofia's brows furrow. "What? No! What gave you that idea?"

"You just seem far off. Nervous. And you keep staring at Rafe like you're conflicted."

"God, no." Sofia forces a laugh, nervous. "My brain's just everywhere lately, you know?"

"Sure. Happens." Sarah gives her a brief look that Sofia can't quite decipher. And then, just as quickly, it's gone—like it was never there.

Almost like Sarah suspects something.

Something Sarah herself is going through right now.

Sarah's belly is starting to show, the bump stretching lightly against her shirt. Already, she stands differently, her hand drifting to her lower back as if to support the weight that hasn't fully settled yet.

Surprise to everyone the brand new Routledge was pregnant at her wedding a few weeks back. Already close to four months now, like some human sacrifice was performed for Sarah to not start showing until after she wore the white and danced her first dance.

Sofia shifts, reminded of her own aching back. Of the small bean currently growing. Her stomach feels bloated, the way it used to on her now nonexistent period.

"I'm gonna grab some water," she says, stepping back and narrowly avoiding Pope as he flips burgers on the grill. "It's a bit hot out here."

"Mind grabbing me a beer?" Pope calls as she passes.

"Sure," Sofia answers quickly, grateful for the excuse to retreat. Sarah smiles at her before turning to join Kiara and Cleo on the lawn, bringing Sofia a brief reprieve from scrutiny.

Inside the Routledge home, the cool air soothes her flushed skin, easing the nausea churning at the scent of smoke.

She bites her lip against the sickness, hoping the relief will last. She'd tried to eat this morning, but she could only stomach a small cup of applesauce and half a banana. She knows she needs to eat more—her doctor told her as much—but the past two weeks had been rough. Dizzy, sick, throwing up the sandwich she'd managed to eat yesterday for lunch. Her hands had been clammy, and she just couldn’t get comfortable.

So, she'd gone in for a check-up to ensure nothing was wrong when she first started to feel down.

She hadn't thought much of it. She had even joked to Rafe that they'd probably just give her some meds and tell her to eat chicken noodle soup.

But then her doctor came back with the results. She almost didn't believe the woman.

"Mrs. Cameron. Looks like you're carrying a little bean."

Bean.

"What?"

"Your urine test came back positive for human chorionic gonadotropin. Or hCG. High levels of it, too, so you're very much pregnant."

"How is that possible?"

Her doctor smiled, amused. "Well, when two adults decide to get intimate—"

"No," Sofia interrupted. In any other situation, she'd appreciate the joke, but… "I had my period a few days ago."

"You said it was spotty. Not heavy?" Her doctor glanced at her notes.

"Yeah."

"That's actually pretty common. It doesn't necessarily mean anything bad, but we can keep an eye on it if it happens again. Many women experience light bleeding due to hormonal shifts as their bodies adjust."

"Okay."

She had been in shock. Five months ago, She and Rafe decided that they were ready to try. They'd planned around her cycle. And Rafe had been more than happy to dedicate his time and effort to the cause.

But they hadn't had any luck.

Not until, apparently, the night or rather morning that he re-entered their lives with platinum blonde hair.

Fuck, that worked wonders, it seems.

She doesn't realize how long she's been standing there, fridge door wide open, staring absentmindedly into the blue fluorescent void.

Sofia.

She blinks.

"Sofia?"

She startles again, her heart skipping as she turns around.

Speak of the devil.

"You okay, babe?" Rafe's eyes scan her face, searching for answers.

"Yeah." She nods, maybe too quickly, because his expression says he doesn't quite believe her.

"You're gonna spoil Carter's yogurt cups."

She glances back, realizing her fingers are white, still gripping the fridge handle. "Shit."

Quickly, she reaches for a water bottle from the back and grabs a beer for Pope.

When she turns back, Rafe is watching her, still searching. Deciding whether to push.

Luckily for her, he doesn't.

Instead, he nods at the unopened beer. "How many of those have you been knocking back?" he teases dryly.

She lets out a weak chuckle. "Oh, you know. Tons. I'm actually wasted right now."

"Just like I like you," he jokes.

"Ew, Rafe," she groans.

He laughs, reaching for her, wrapping a hand around her hip to pull her in. She lets herself lean into him.

"Food's done. Everyone's sitting down," Rafe murmurs, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head. "Figured I'd go find my wife to make sure she hasn't decided to ditch me here with my sister and the Pogues."

She shakes her head. "You love them, and you know it."

He steers her back outside, grumbling his denials, but she catches the truth in his smirk.

__________________

"Sofia," Cleo grabs Sofia's attention from across the table, "you feeling okay? Your plate's still pretty full."

Pope sits up straight, peering down the table to analyze Sofia's plate. "Did I burn your burger? Did I undercook it?"

"No, no." Sofia waves a hand over her plate. "It was delicious, Pope." She regards Cleo across the way. "I just ate a lot for breakfast and snacked on so much of the veggie tray. Think I just got full."

"Okay," Cleo states, unconvinced.

Rafe glances worriedly, subtly, at his wife's plate. Two, maybe three, bites out of the burger. Macaroni salad was picked at but still in a somewhat cohesive heap. And her zucchini nibbled on but nowhere near finished. On the other hand, his sits with scraps—if you can even call them that.

He shifts toward her, moving his hand to cup her knee and squeeze, whispering, "You sure you're okay?"

She smiles and nods, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Rafe can tell she's feeling unwell, even when she tries to pretend otherwise. He just doesn't quite know how to help her.

"You didn’t eat that much this morning," he murmurs, the chatter of the others drowning out his low tone.

"I'm just feeling kinda iffy."

"Let's head home."

"No, it's fine—"

He sends her a look to shut her up. She does. Throwing his napkin on his plate, he pushes his chair back and stands.

"Sarah, JB, thanks for the fun time. Pope, great food as always." He grabs Sofia's hand and gently pulls her up with him. "I have some work I need to complete for an upcoming project."

"You're leaving before dessert?" Sarah meanders to her feet.

He feels Sofia's hand tense in his.

"As entertaining as that would be to watch Sofia scarf it down, feel free to enjoy without us this time. We can pick something up on the way home."

"Okay," Sarah sighs, not disappointed, resigned to their departure.

"Uncle Rayfe!" Carter squeals, holding his arms out for a hug. Rafe quickly pulls the kid from his chair, hugging him tight. Carter leans toward Sofia when they pull away, and she grimaces through the hug as best she can.

He's getting more concerned by the second.

The rest of them say their goodbyes—hugs, fist bumps, smiles—before they swiftly exit the house. Rafe grabs Sofia's purse and an extra bottle of water from the fridge before guiding her outside.

Getting her in the car is easy. Getting her to talk to him? A separate issue.

Settled in the driver's seat, he turns to her. "You look terrible—"

"Wow, thanks—"

"You know I don't mean it like that. You look pale, and you've been unfocused practically all day."

"I feel sick."

"Bad sick?"

"Just… I'm hungry, but anytime I think of food, I want to throw up."

"Okay." He taps his fingers against the console. "How can I help?"

"I don't know—"

"Sof. You've gotta eat. And now that I think of it, you barely ate breakfast. You definitely never snacked on any of the veggie tray. And your plate was basically full."

"I know."

"What'd the doctor say?"

"I didn't call them this morning."

"Sof—"

"Don't start. I'm fine."

"Sofia. Stop saying you're fine. You're not fine— and that's fine. Just tell me how I can help?"

He can't help it. Sofia is his person, and his person is currently feeling ill, and he needs to fix it if he can. Especially since he’s partly to blame for it anyway.

"Rafe."

Sofia wandered into the house around 4 p.m., looking a bit disheveled. He pushed away the carrots and hummus he was snacking on to give her his full attention. She stood on the opposite side of the island, placing her bag down gently before bracing herself on the counter.

He spurred into action, meandering around the island to pull her in.

"You look like you've had a day." He smiled.

"Feels like an understatement," she murmured.

"What?" He laughed, pulling her in at the waist and rubbing her back softly.

"Rafe," she breathed, "I'm pregnant."

His smirk fell, eyes widening. "What?"

"That's why I've been feeling icky the last few days. My doc said my pregnancy test was positive."

"You're not joking." His eyes flickered between her hazel eyes. She just shook her head in confirmation.

"Are you not excited?" he asks with concern. "Not exactly the face I thought you would've had at the news."

"Are we even gonna be able to raise a kid?" She asks before visibly swallowing.

"Fuck yeah." He states, leaning down to get on her level, to force her to look at him straight. "You're gonna be the best fucking mom. And I'm gonna be sure I'm the best fucking dad."

She blinks, raising her hand to cup his ear, "We've got this."

He swallows, a smile breaking out on his lips. Sofia's starts to reflect his. "We've got this in the bag."

She chuckles. Rafe laughs. He picks her up and spins her. 

Exactly what they wanted.

"So what do you need? What's gonna get you to feed yourself and our baby?"

Her head thuds against the headrest, her hand curling around his in her lap. "Applesauce."

"Applesauce?" He repeats it to confirm.

"Yeah. It's the only thing I can think of that doesn't make me want to vomit air."

"Okay." He shifts, turning on the car and buckling himself in. "Grocery store it is. Applesauce, and we'll look up anything else that you might be able to stomach. We'll get you fed, and you can take a nap—"

"I wanna cuddle." Her head lolls to the side as he comes to a stop at the end of his sister's driveway. Her face is innocent, her hand reaching over to grab his, placing it back in her lap, her thumb running featherlight circles over his skin.

He leans over the console, their faces inches apart as her eyes analyze him silently.

Lovingly.

She smiles softly before he plants a soft kiss between her brows, then lifts their entangled hands to kiss the back of hers in the same manner. She smiles back at him, and he sees her relax for the first time all day.

__________________

Sofia murmurs from the passenger seat, "I've been to the edges of your fingertips."

He glances over briefly, Sofia staring down at her phone. Thumbs flicking over the screen absentmindedly. She continues to breathe out the lyrics to the song. “And sailed the ocean in your eyes.”

In a million days In a million nights I'll still have more to find 'Cause there is no end to your light

Rafe smiles softly as her voice, which is too good in his opinion, sings softly, "Smile that could kill a man…". She catches his gaze before he turns back to focus on the road. Her smile brightens as she now stares at him from her spot. 

He jolts just so when her elbow pushes his off the console. 

"You light up a room just by being you. And I live in that glow," Sofia sings louder. Then she leans closer to catch his eye. "Hate it when you're insecure. There's not a goddamn reason for it, so…".

"What are you doing?" He speaks. 

She ignores him. 

"That loving you is as easy as breathing. I don't even try to, oh, no. And if you ever think I'm thinking of leaving. Darling, I'll remind you. Oh."

He chuckles. 

Then she takes his hand, pulling it into her lap as the chorus comes back around. Her fingers play with his. 

"I've been to the edges of your fingertips."

Her other hand wraps around his neck, shaking lightly in jest. 

"Traveled the corners of your mind."

He should've seen her coming, but he is still surprised when she taps his amused mouth. 

"I've walked the ledges in between your lips."

His eyes glance over briefly to meet hers; she leans forward in her seat to connect their gazes. 

"And sailed the ocean in your eyes."

"Stop." He laughs. 

In a million days In a million nights I'll still have more to find 'Cause there is no end to your light There's no end to your light It shines on forever, burning like you and I

Sofia finishes out the song, her thumb rubbing soft circles on the back of his hand. He can't help the small smile that sticks to his mouth the entire time. 

"Sarah texted." She says as another song starts playing from her playlist. 

"And?" he squeezes her hand gently, lifting their joined hands to flick on the turn signal, her arm extending and retracting at the motion.

"Just says 'Save me.'"

Rafe snorts, "How badly do you want to turn around? Go home and just lay by the pool for the rest of the day?"

He'd turn the car around immediately if she told him to. 

"And disappoint your sister. No, thank you."

"Sarah is more than capable of handling Rose and Wheezie."

"Yeah, but Wheezie has been asking you both to see her play all summer." Sofia sighs, her eyes boring into the side of his head. "Don't back out when we're what? Ten minutes or so out."

"I know." He sighs, squeezing her fingers gently between his. "I just have absolutely no desire to make niceties with Rose."

"You're not doing this for Rose. You're doing it for Wheezie."

"Stop making sense." He groans. "Sometimes I really enjoy it when you just give in to me."

"Yeah," she says, "this isn't one of those times. Sorry, my love."

His heart squeezes. God, he's gotten sappy. 

They pull into the parking lot just a few minutes later. Stepping out into the oppressive heat, he stares up at the complex with resignation. 

Sofia's right. He's here to support Wheezie, and it's not like he can't stomach fake smiles and hellos with his dad's ex-wife for the afternoon. Regardless of his issues with the woman, he can't deny she's cared for his little sister over the past few years, especially when Wheezie benefited from getting out of Kildare and away from the Cameron family whispers. 

He grabs Sofia's hand and leads her through the front doors into the sports complex. A few concession stands litter the floor, concrete veering off left and right, leading to a few doors and spanning the outside of the courts. 

It's busy. 

A banner announcing the Regional Volleyball competition. 

Wheezie entered a volleyball league after she and Rose moved away under Ward's guise of safety. His little sister started killing it with her team while the rest of them trampled around Kildare, then the world, and then back to Kildare. 

And now she and her team are at Regionals. 

"Sarah said they were just inside the second set of doors to the left." Sofia recites. 

He leads them through the bodies passing through the enclosure, slipping past a few people passing through the double doors into the court. Two courts are set up, and one side is close to finishing this fairly close game. The other, where Sarah and JB sit above Rose, has girls warming up. John B spots them first, perking up. 

"Hey!" John B sounds a bit more relieved. 

"Hey," Sofia greets back, Sarah lifting from her spot to casually bring Sofia in for a hug. His sister clutches his girlfriend a little tighter than possibly necessary. 

Sarah shoots him a brief look indicating her thankfulness, no doubt at their arrival, but he can only assume. When John B goes in for a quick hug with Sof, Rafe gives Sarah a quick side hug, murmuring, "that bad?"

"She won't stop asking when JB is going to “officially” propose."

Rafe chuckles. The fact that Rose is wholly unaware that the kid has done so in numerous ways amuses him. It earns a few confused glances from the others. 

"Rafe," Rose's voice cuts in, "glad you could find some time to make it."

It feels like a dig. Rafe's definitely taking it as one. 

Sofia's hand brushes lightly against his forearm before smiling at Rose, "We were so grateful for the invite."

"Who are you?" Rose questions with a brow and a sickly sweet smile.

Sofia pauses. 

"Sofia. Rose." He gestures stiffly. "Rose. This is my girlfriend, Sofia."

Rose holds out a perfectly manicured hand for Sofia to take, and she shakes it with a tight smile. "Nice to meet you," she says.

"Likewise." Sofia grits out sweetly with a now unbothered smile.

A coo distracts them all.

"Carter." Sofia coos back. Sarah smiles as she pokes a finger in Carter’s carrier for him to grab onto. Sofia crouches down to interact with the very soon-to-be six-month-old. "Hey, buddy. How've you been?" 

Carter just coos again with a giggle and a soft smile. 

"Wanna hold him?" Sarah asks. "He's been itching for cuddles, but JB and I are slightly overstimulated."

John B adds for clarity, "He didn't want to be put down all morning."

"John B was pacing in the corridor with him for twenty minutes straight," Sarah adds. 

Sofia smiles, "I'd love to."

Rafe sits on the other side of Sarah, leaning over to throw his nephew a silly face. Carter seemingly loves it. 

Sarah and Sofia work quickly, with Carter unbuckled and hoisted into Sofia's arms in the blink of an eye. 

"Hi, buddy." Sofia greets. 

His girl is a natural with Carter. All through Sarah's recovery, if Kiara and Cleo weren't over helping clean, watch, or cook for Sarah and John B as they got used to parenthood, it was him and Sofia. 

One of the perks of having a girlfriend from a large Mexican family is the number of authentic dishes that come with it. Sofia's abuela, mom, and aunts did nothing but ply them with various casseroles and dishes to bring to the new parents to be sustained through sleepless nights and stress-inducing new experiences. 

Carter stares up at Sofia with awe, his brown eyes wide and his tiny hands gripping her top. It always brings a soft smile to his face. 

"Getting any easier?" Sofia asks, sitting down on the other side of Rafe, still fully attentive to his nephew. 

"You know. Some days are easier than others. But I think JB and I are getting the hang of it?"

"We're getting there. Baby steps, no pun intended." John B remarks with a sneaky smirk. 

Rose, a rung down on the smooth wooden court seats, seemingly ignores them. Pisses Rafe off to no end. One of many things he and Sarah agree on as he glances over and catches his sister glaring at the back of Rose's blonde head. 

Wheezie ends up on the court ten minutes later, warming up with her team. Completely focused and natural. She's taller. Taller than Sarah. She cut her hair to her shoulders and got contacts. His littlest sister isn't as little anymore. It's not like she liked acting like it years ago, anyway. 

~~~~~

The whistle blows, and the game starts fast.

Wheezie's team takes the first serve, and Rafe's eyes track his sister as she moves across the court—focused, sharp, totally locked in.

Sofia leans forward with Carter still nestled in her arms, her gaze flicking between the court and the scoreboard. "She's good," she murmurs.

"She's a machine," Sarah says proudly.

"Didn't get it from mom that’s for sure," Rafe adds under his breath.

Wheezie jumps for a block, her arms perfectly timed, and the ball drops past the net. Her team cheers.

Rafe lets out a low whistle. "That's my girl."

A few plays later, Wheezie sets up a teammate with a clean pass that leads to another point. She turns, pumping her fist as her coach yells encouragement from the sideline.

Carter wiggles in Sofia's arms, babbling nonsense as the gym cheers again.

Wheezie dives for a save, the ball skimming just over the net. They watch the rest of the match unfold—Wheezie helping rack up points, her team closing in on the win. And when the final point lands, her teammates celebrate.

Rafe claps, his voice raised above the noise. "That's what I'm talking about!"

Wheezie's eyes find him in the crowd. She grins, throws a thumbs-up, and it hits him—this was worth it. Every fake smile. Every minute in this overheated gym.

He'd do it all again.

For her.

~~~~~

They wait outside under the shade of a big awning, storm clouds off in the distance. A summer storm makes its way in, and the breeze cools their skin. 

John B and Sofia currently entertain a smiley, all too happy to have all the attention on him, Carter. 

But it's him and Sarah who are currently waiting in anticipation. Sarah texted Wheezie that they would meet her outside, especially after that win. 

The doors slam open, Wheezie smiling wide as an over-it-looking Rose follows. Wheezie sprints toward them, enveloping both him and Sarah in a hug. The three Camerons. Together again. It always feels like a little piece of their old home. 

What with Sarah's new one being John B and Carter and his being Sofia. It always feels nice when they can come back to them. 

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Wheezie murmurs into his shoulder. Sarah's hand pats just under his on Wheezie's back. 

"Don't thank us." Sarah responds, "You were the star. We should be praising you."

They all pull back. Three out of four of their audience watch on with affection.

Wheezie lights up when she spots John B and Carter, practically jogging over.

She crouches next to the carrier, and Carter lets out a squeal of delight, tiny fists waving like he's been waiting all day just for her.

Wheezie leans in to press a kiss on Carter's cheek. "You're getting huge. What are they feeding you?"

"Mostly mashed bananas and panic," John B says.

"Or," Wheezie adds, "he's just bulking up to be taller than Rafe."

Rafe scoffs, arms crossed. "He's got a long way to go."

Wheezie stands, smoothing down her jersey as she turns toward Sofia. "Sofia," she says warmly, reaching for a quick hug. "I’m so glad you convinced my brother to come."

Sofia grins and hugs her back. "You looked unstoppable. I'm so proud of you."

"She was," Rafe agrees, arms casually crossed.

Wheezie smirks. "Sof and I have been talking about this match in our DMs for, like, a week. I was giving her all the potential game-day tea.” Wheezie turns to Sofia, “Did you see him?”

His sister blushes slightly.

Sofia grins, “I did. And he was one hundred percent watching you.”

"You two DM?" Rafe tilts his head, squinting. "About what?"

"You," Wheezie says, deadpan.

Sofia laughs, stepping in. "Lou needed some tips for her photography final. And then we somehow veered onto her newest crush."

"Which got me a near-perfect grade," Wheezie adds proudly, totally steam rolling over the mention of a crush.

Sofia shrugs, brushing it off. "You did the work."

Wheezie throws an arm around her shoulder. "She's a keeper."

"She is," Rafe agrees without hesitation.

He catches Sarah smirking at him, but she lets it go, glancing up at the sky, where storm clouds start rolling in.

"Well," she sighs, "congratulations, Sneezie. Dad would've been proud of you."

John B shifts closer as Wheezie crouches down again to say goodbye to Carter, murmuring something that makes him giggle and kick excitedly.

"We'll see you this weekend?" Sarah asks.

"Of course," Wheezie says, utterly unfazed by Rose's distant scowl. One more year in that house, and she's out. Now that she's got her license, it's just a matter of time.

"I wouldn't miss it. I get to hang out with my favorite little man," she says, poking Carter's belly and grinning as he squeals again.

They have plans as a family to hit up one of their old stomping grounds for a celebratory sibling/significant other/child dinner. Sans Rose, luckily. 

They say their goodbyes, leaving a smiling Wheezie and an annoyed Rose behind to pile into their respective cars and head back home. Kildare. Back to their day-to-day.

~~~~~

The drive home feels only marginally longer, but they still don't pull into the driveway until half past eight. The sun is just brushing the horizon, casting pinks, purples, blues, and oranges—light bouncing off the soft bellies of summer clouds that recently just poured a quick summer rain.

Sofia is out of the car quickly, already making her way up the walkway to their house by the time he rounds the front of the SUV.

"Hey."

He stops, leaning back against the hood.

She turns at his voice, hair blowing lightly in the evening breeze. "Yeah? What?"

He's staring. He shouldn't be surprised anymore, but he still is. He's lucky. He's happy.

"I love you."

Sofia's face shifts; surprise first, understanding, then amused disbelief.

"Do you, now?"

"Yeah. A lot."

"Well, good for you. I love you too."

"Yeah."

The silence stretches between them. Sofia starts to frown, something flickering across her face— concern, confusion.

"Rafe… is everything okay?"

"Marry me."

It slips out before he can stop it.

"What?" Her eyes widen, mouth parting.

"Marry me."

"Are you proposing right now?" she asks skeptically, hand landing on her hip with an attitude he's come to know. She only comes out when she deems it necessary, and he guesses this is one of those moments.

"Yes and no."

"So you're telling me?" she fires back.

That's his girl.

He grins and pushes off the car, shoving a hand into his pocket—the one he'd slipped something into this morning. Sofia shifts, suddenly more nervous than teasing.

He reaches her, taking her hand. With his other, he pulls out a ring. His mother's ring. The one he tossed in a drawer in the Tannyhill kitchen almost a year ago.

"Marry me."

He holds it carefully between them. Sofia's gaze is locked on it, her breath caught as he gently rolls it between his thumb and forefinger. He lowers just enough to see her eyes clearly.

"I've asked three times now—"

"None of those were questions," she retorts, eyebrows raised.

She's beautiful.

"Sofia Ramírez, love of my life," she rolls her eyes at him, but he smiles, "will you marry me?"

"Better," she says, voice light.

"Are you gonna make me ask a fifth time?" His tone is all humor now.

"You mean second?"

"Sof—"

"Yes."

Her smile blooms slowly and surely. Rafe's face mirrors it, his whole body lighting up as he pulls her left hand toward him and slides the ring onto her finger. It glints in the soft dusk.

She wraps her arms around him in an instant, rising on her toes to kiss him—he meets her halfway, kissing her back with every ounce of warmth rushing through his chest.

When she pulls away, she's still smiling. "You know what happened the last time you proposed?"

He tries to think. They'd smiled, laughed— he'd asked her to move in, promised he'd only be gone a few days.

"What?"

"You left me."

"Sof—"

"Not that I'm keeping track or anything, but you do know you have to make it up to me."

"Yeah?" He steps closer, hands finding her waist, walking her backward toward the front door. Her smile is wide, reflected in her hazel eyes.

"Yeah. You've got a lot of making up to do for the first time."

Her hands loop tighter around his neck.

"Well," he murmurs, dropping his hands to the backs of her thighs and lifting her with ease—her legs locking around his waist instinctively—"good thing we've got time."

He leans in, kissing her again—deep and warm, the kind of kiss that slows the world and fills it with nothing but her.

__________________

She doesn't think much of it when the front door opens, and Rafe's voice reaches her ears. Her focus is locked in on the end of a cooking short, and she's determined to see it through.

"Sofia."

"Kitchen." She calls back. 

She hears him before she sees him, his arms wrapping around her middle, pulling her into a long, lingering squeeze. She melts into it, clicking her phone off. No Instagram recipe is worth more than touching her person for the first time in four days.

She turns on her stool.

Her eyes widen like saucers, her mouth slightly agape.

"You're blonde." 

"I'm blonde." Rafe smiles that tight, mischievous smile he always wears when he knows he's up to no good—in a good way, that is.

"What happened?" She asks, endeavoring to keep her voice from betraying her confused shock… or awe. She fails because her voice is an octave or two too high.

"Well," Rafe waggles his brows once in emphasis. She knows this is gonna be something. "Top wanted to hit up the bars—"

"Naturally." She supplies. 

"And so we got tipsy."

"You did that tipsy?"

"Okay, we got wasted—"

"Sounds more believable." She murmurs, and he ignores her.

"And Derek and Kelce got it in their heads to get tattoos—"

"You didn't?" She suddenly pulls back, panic flashing in her eyes. God, please at least protect me from his idiocy.

"You don't want me to have a tattoo?"

Sofia shakes her head, "I don't care if you get a tattoo. I just don't want you getting one when you're close to blackout drunk and making questionable life decisions."

"Well…" he sighs. Sofia's eyes widen. "I didn't."

She exhales, relieved. Not that she'd ever stop Rafe if he really wanted one, but getting a tattoo while drunk? That's her worst nightmare. A giant snake down his arm. A phoenix across his back. A skull anywhere on his body.

Especially only a week away from Sarah and John B's wedding, nonetheless. She could only imagine Sarah's own shock.

Sofia shudders internally at the thought.

"Kelce got a bat."

"What?" She almost snorts.

"Yeah. I convinced Top, in his state of drunken elation, to encourage it."

"Rafe."

"What? He can easily go get it removed if he wants."

"Dani's gonna have your asses."

"Well, be glad I was of somewhat sound mind to deny the snake they wanted me to get up my arm."

Praise anything holy that this man was at least somewhat conscious.

"But I did convince them that I'd dye my hair instead, so…"

"Here we are?" She ruffles the tips of his platinum-blonde hair before sliding her hand around his neck.

"You hate it?" he asks, almost meekly, as if searching for approval. "I can dye it back—"

"No." She states firmly. "It's just hair. It'll grow out, or you'll buzz it all off again."

"I don't know," his hands grip tighter around her waist. "I've heard blondes have more fun."

She laughs. "Yeah? Platinum blondes must have the most."

"I missed you." His fingertips skim lightly along her spine before he leans down, kissing her jaw softly.

She smiles. "I'm sure you didn't miss me with the strip club and all the ladies." 

She follows Kelce on Instagram. Kelce—apparently too drunk to remember that maybe posting stories from a strip club at a bachelor weekend isn't the wisest decision—had uploaded an entire story the night before. When she checked the next morning, Instagram had already flagged it and taken it down.

"You were the only thing on my mind all weekend." He smirks, a short kiss deposited on her neck. "Case in point, the hair, not the tattoo."

"Thank you for thinking of me." She teases.

His hands drift lower, fingers trailing slowly down the small of her back. His smirk deepens.

And you know what?

She missed him.

So she lets him.

His hands find the backs of her thighs, lifting her effortlessly and settling her onto the island.

"What're you doing?"

He smirks, "Ever heard of foreplay?"

"This doesn't quite seem like foreplay to me." She grins. 

His hands rub slow circles along her thighs, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her skirt.

"Shh," he whispers. His lips trail down her neck, lingering, teasing. He bites just below her ear. Her breath catches. "You'll ruin it."

"That's all you've got?" She teases with a smile.

He pulls back just enough to give her a playful look of mock disdain. "Watch it."

She giggles. Then squeals when Rafe lifts her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs to their room. And oh, does he show her exactly how much he missed her.

~~~~~

The early morning sun casts light over her eyes as she blinks awake, her body stretching, readjusting to the waking world.

"Morning." 

Rafe's voice carries across the room. She glances toward him, still groggy, finding him standing across the way.

She stares. Long. Hard. Intense. And she has no care in the world that Rafe knows it. 

The morning sun lights him up through the open door of their balcony—smaller than the one at Tannyhill but cozier, nestled against the big live oak just outside, with the breeze from the water drifting in. And goddammit, he's got to be shirtless, his pajama bottoms slung low on his hips.

Part of her thinks he does it on purpose. Like he just knows how much it gets a rise out of her. 

And goddammit again, because the platinum blonde hair makes him look more carefree than ever. Maybe blondes really do have more fun.

"What are you doing?" Sofia’s voice is thick with sleep as she rubs her eyes, still twisted in the sheets.

"Enjoying the morning."

"Who'd have thought you'd be a morning person? You used to tease me so much when I told you it was time to get up."

"Maturity?" He jests with a smirk.

Sofia snorts. "You wish."

"Okay, Mrs. Cameron. Don't dogpile on me this early in the morning."

Her eyes narrow before she glances at the clock. 9:05 a.m. reflects back in white digital.

She groans, finally flinging herself upright, the covers falling haphazardly across the bed.

Padding softly into their bathroom, she washes her hands after using it, then checks her reflection in the mirror. Her hair—ugh, lifeless. Definitely in need of a wash.

She moves back out to their bedroom, toward the dresser, intending to find fresh underwear, but stops short when she catches Rafe, now sitting at the edge of their bed, scrolling through his phone.

She leans back against the armoire for grounding, but damn. He looks good. And she is absolutely taking a moment to appreciate it.

"What?" He smirks, catching onto her sudden inaction.

"It works for you." Sofia admits, her teeth briefly dragging over her bottom lip.

"So blondes are your thing now?" He accuses dryly. "Duly noted."

"No, I'm into you. You just happen to be blonde."

"Does it turn you on?" 

He leans forward, elbows resting just above his knees, the muscles in his biceps and forearms flexing. His shoulders shift, his traps locking—everything rippling with the movement. He wears that smirk. The one she loves to hate.

Her legs press together just a little tighter, her toes curling against the top of her other foot. Sofia tells herself it's keeping her grounded. Sane.

It's not. But one can hope.

"Maybe." She doesn't know why she admits it, but something about the look in his eye makes her want to tell the truth.

Fuck him and his ability to turn her into a mess in mere seconds.

"C'mere." He shifts, hands gripping his knees, sitting taller.

She almost shakes her head just to keep her sanity. 

He smirks, a bit more commanding now, "C'mere."

Sofia’s heartbeat drums in her ears, breath coming in and out in steady awareness. Slowly, she pushes off the armoire—the one she found while antiquing. She remembers the moment she dragged Rafe there, how he groaned when she had to have it. It took him, Topper, and John B to haul it up the stairs, Pope calling out directions while she and the girls drank beer and watched. Carter giggled his little toothy grin at the display of "manpower."

Rafe had explicitly forbidden her from buying anything else for a year after that.

When she's close enough, his hands find her hips, fingers curling around the thin fabric of her shorts.

"Rafe." Her voice wavers in warning.

"Sof." His voice is a whisper. That dangerous glint in his eye—the one he wears when he knows he's about to get his way.

Slowly, his hands creep up under her thin cami, fingertips ghosting over her waist as he inches it higher. And he still stares at her. Knowing.

Sofia despises how he can get such a thrill out of unraveling her. 

Her breath hitches when he leans in, lips warm against her skin. His hands cradle her, thumbs grazing just beneath her breasts. She has to grip his wrists to keep steady on her already swaying legs. 

Her teeth sink into her lip as her eyes close, melting into his touch. His kisses trail lower, slow and deliberate, moving down her ribs, to her navel, then past that. His wrists escape her grip, his hands following suit, teasing just beneath the hem of her shorts.

She's hot all over. If Rafe asked her for anything, she'd do it. No hesitation.

"Sof?"

She barely registers it.

A small chuckle. "Sof?"

This time, she acknowledges him. "Uh-huh?"

"What do you want?"

"What?"

Another chuckle. Damn him.

"What do you want?" His lips hover at the hem of her shorts, his breath tickling her skin.

Sofia pauses, her hands gripping at his shoulders, as if contemplating—but they both know there's no actual decision to make.

"You."

Rafe grins, fingers hooking around her shorts, slowly trailing them down her legs. His touch is featherlight, leaving tingling paths in its wake. He tosses them aside.

His lips follow, pressing slow, heated kisses along the hem of her underwear. Down they go, too, discarded, and she doesn't care where.

Then, in an instant, he grabs her thighs, pulling her into his lap. She gladly complies, pressing against him, the warmth of his skin beneath her hands, beneath her body, grounding and electrifying all at once.

Her knees dip into the mattress, straddling him as his hands slip beneath the hem of her cami, fingers spreading wide over the small of her back like he's trying to memorize the shape of her. His lips find her shoulder first, warm, soft, open-mouthed kisses trailing up, lingering just beneath her ear.

Her fingers curl into the back of his hair—that damn platinum hair—giving it a slow, indulgent tug. He exhales sharply against her skin, his hands tightening at her hips.

She smirks. Two can play this game.

His breath is uneven now, his own restraint slipping, and she revels in it.

Or at least she thinks so—until, with an easy roll of his hips, he reminds her exactly who she's dealing with.

A sharp gasp slips past her lips, and his smirk is immediate. Cocky bastard.

His fingers slip higher, bunching the fabric of her top, gliding up the dip of her spine over her ribs. His mouth follows, lazy and teasing, grazing the sensitive curve of her neck, then down until his teeth scrape the spot just above her collarbone.

Her head tips back, hands sliding back to his shoulders, nails dragging lightly. She feels the way he shudders, how his grip on her tightens like he's this close to losing his patience.

Good.

He's not the only one who can drive the other insane.

She tilts forward, pressing fully against him, and his hands immediately move to hold her in place, guiding her hips down deliberately. Slow. Over and over. Her breath stutters at the friction, and he exhales hard, head dropping against her shoulder.

"Sofia."

Her name, rough and unfiltered, is spoken straight into her skin.

Her stomach tightens at the sound of it.

She pulls back just enough to meet his eyes, wide, dark, and hungry, beneath the early morning sunlight streaming through the open balcony door.

It's a silent question, which receives a silent answer.

His hand slides up her side, skimming the curve of her waist, then slipping between them, fingers brushing exactly where she wants him.

Her lips part, eyes fluttering shut momentarily before she forces them open again. She wants to watch him. Wants to see his expression shift, wants to see the way his jaw locks when she rolls her hips against his touch.

He's too good. And she again hates that he just knows it, especially when he smirks knowingly as her eyes resist rolling back. 

Rafe shifts uncomfortably for a moment below her. His hips try their best not to jut up. So she stops him momentarily, lifting up to tug at his pajamas. He lifts up high enough to shove them down. And just as quick as he’s free, she aligns herself and sinks down, their breathing a mix of satisfied, ragged breaths. Lips meeting to swallow the other's gasp.

They're slow. Methodical. Choosing to feel the others’ push and pull. Rafe helps her every few moments, his hands sprawled around her hips as she moves. She wants this. To be on top. To show him how much she's willing to work for him, just as he shows her. 

Sofia manages to keep herself in check long enough for their foreheads to touch. For her eyes to meet Rafe's—wide, open, searching. Intoxicated. 

It's too good every time. Lights every nerve ending on fire.

Her fingers slowly twist into those fucking platinum locks as her eyes squeeze shut. The telltale signs of an impending release on her brain as his fingers again slip in between them. Rafe always tells her he's surprised she hasn't had to get stitches in her bottom lip for how many times she's bitten down on it when in this kind of bliss. 

She's kinda shocked, too, if she's honest. She's pretty sure she can count on at least one hand how many times she's drawn blood in the near past.

To which he thankfully saves her from this time by capturing her lips with his, their uneven breathing mixing sloppily. 

Her movements get sloppier, and his hips become hurried. Their shared exhilarating exhaustion creeps in, but their mutual need for that high is paramount. His fingers get faster, just as their hips do. Instinctively, Sofia pulls him in closer, or maybe it's him who pulls her in. But they're chest to chest, hips to hips, his hands gripping her lower back and his mouth buried into her shoulder. His platinum hair tickles her neck with every jolt. She lets her head lull down, eyes shut, as she rides the thick wave at its precipice. Her breathing heavy. 

Then, the coil snaps. 

Boom. 

Wave cresting and finally crashing. 

Just like that, she's unorganized, her nerve endings exploding and fizzling out to all other parts of her body, her brain begging for relief from the high but riding it all the same. Sofia’s eyes screw shut as she moves more lazily with his continued albeit erratic thrusts. His hands grip the skin of her thighs before her hips slam one final time against his, his grip keeping her in place even as his ghost their previous beat, even minuscule. His lips lazily pepper her shoulder and the curve of her neck. 

They sit there like that for a few minutes. Sofia's calmer breaths slowly sync Rafe's, bringing his heaving chest to an easy crawl. 

He groans when her nails scratch lightly at the back of his scalp, his own fingers lightly gripping her hips in a steady rhythm like it's grounding him. 

"I would suggest a round two, but I'm pretty sure Sarah would be pissed if we missed brunch." Rafe kisses her jaw softly. 

"For all intents and purposes, this is round two. You never gave me the second orgasm you promised me last night."

"Sorry, long day."

Sofia pulls back, shifting just a little, causing him to groan at the movement of him still lodged in her. Her nerves are still on edge, so she can agree. 

"You were out like a log." She answers, "Pretty sure that's the first time I heard you snore."

"I did not."

"Did, too." She argues back lightly. "But don't worry, it was cute." She cups his face between her hands, keeping it steady as her fingertips brush the sides of his newly dyed hair again, her eyes wandering to analyze it. 

"Ahh. Cute. Music to my ears." He dryly comments. 

"You can keep the hair." Not like she ever questioned him keeping it or not before. Part of her just feels like she needs to voice it. Again.

"So it is a turn-on for you."

"What can I say? The blonde hair, blue eyes work."

He chuckles lightly, placing a short kiss on her mouth.

"Okay. Now we really need to get ready, and I need a shower after that." She shifts just so, glancing behind him for anything to take care of their current state. "Where are the—"

Suddenly, she's hoisted into the air, her legs quickly wrapping around Rafe's hips for safety. The soft early April breeze comes in from the open balcony door, sending goose bumps across her exposed lower back for a moment.

"What the hell?" Sofia laughs, breathless.

"You need to shower. I need to shower." His grip tightens, securing her against him as he starts toward the bathroom.

Rafe smirks. "Just makes sense."

Well… at least he repaid her for the promises he made last night.

——————————

"Oh my god." Sarah's voice cuts through the buzz of the brunch crowd, her eyes wide as she takes in her brother. "You're blonde."

Rafe lets out a short, exasperated laugh, running a hand through his newly dyed hair. "I am, in fact, blonde."

He walks into the cozy brunch spot, hand in hand with Sofia, the late morning sun streaming through the large windows. The Pogues—and his sister—are already seated, deep in conversation. He and Sofia had rolled in about ten minutes late, thanks to their… morning distractions.

"White boy just got whiter." Cleo teases, shaking her head.

Pope, Kiara, and John B all snicker, grinning at the unexpected transformation.

Rafe just smirks, unfazed by the playful jeers. He can take the jokes—Sofia had no complaints about the blonde last night. Or this morning.

"I wanna be bond!" Carter squeals enthusiastically, clapping his little hands together.

John B laughs awkwardly, ruffling a hand through his son's hair, the same mousy brown as his own.

"Let's not." He shakes his head. "You can make that kind of decision when you're Uncle Rafe's age."

__________________