The safehouse was not quiet. Not tonight.
The air thrummed with a nervous energy that was part relief, part raw triumph. In the main room, the crew was a storm of muted celebration. Vince was pouring whiskey for Jerry, the lines of worry around his eyes replaced by a grim, proud satisfaction. Julian, still pale from his gambit, was being clapped on the back by a giddy Lucy, a ghost of a smile on his lips. They had done it. They had lured the wolf out of his den. The gambit had worked.
But in the middle of it all, Capol and Pat were an island. They stood at the edge of the room, separated from the crew by an invisible barrier of unspoken words and unhealed wounds. The cheers were a backdrop to the silence between them. He could feel the victory in his bones, the first true win since the w
