EMMA

When a soldier goes to war, it's not because they love the gleam of their sword, the adrenaline of battle, or even their hatred for the enemy. They do it because of what they must defend.

And, well, I had a lot to defend—a lot to fight for. It wasn't just my freedom on the line; it was everything I was still holding on to for the future.

Yet I couldn't shake the gnawing feeling in my stomach. Was it simply apprehension... or could it be guilt?

I had conned many people throughout my life, and I couldn't fathom feeling guilty about manipulating Jake—the man whose job it was to ensure I spent the rest of my days in a prison cell. And what unsettled me even more was having to remind myself that my actions were purely self-preservation.

My world was built on secrets and lies, and though I wasn't proud of some decisions I had to make, I had always told myself they were necessary.

Yet again, that was the thing about being human—we refuse to see ourselves as villains. We spin our choices into noble sacrifices, whisper reassurances to ourselves until they sound like truth, even when our consciences know better.

But sometimes, I wondered if I had crossed a line, if I had gone so far that I was now conning myself, believing that people like us had a shot at redemption. And, oh boy, there was nothing more sardonic than a con artist pulling one over on herself.

The sound of the front door creaking open pulled me from my thoughts. My stomach tightened. Eric was home.

How the hell was I going to tell him what I had done?

With an exasperated sigh, I ran my fingers through my medium-length hair, untangling it, and took a few deep breaths to prepare myself for the confrontation I was about to have with my dear brother and partner. The one I kept in the dark about a plan that involved him as much as it did me.

Putting it that way made me wince, and it was probably written all over my face because Eric's eyes narrowed the second he caught sight of me.

"Emma, are you okay? You look like you've stubbed your toe."

Putting on my best deadpan face, I said, "I did stub my toe."

He arched an eyebrow. "Really? On what?"

"Life... and poor decisions."

He looked taken aback for a bit before finally sitting on the couch across from me. "Alright, clearly some kind of shit has hit the fan. What did you do?"

Despite being one of the best con artists on the planet, I could never hide anything from Eric. He read me like an open book.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. The words felt slippery, like they were scrambling away from me.

"Emma." His voice dropped, sharper now. "Spit it out."

I sighed heavily and began explaining—every detail of my meeting with Jake at the coffee shop. By the time I finished, Eric was staring at me like I had just confessed to selling one of his kidneys on the black market.

Then, out of nowhere, he laughed—a sharp, incredulous sound that felt like glass shattering.

"That's... wow. That's rich." He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "You were joking, right?"

I didn't respond.

His smile faded. "Emma. Please tell me you're joking."

Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, my eyes strayed away from him as I felt I could no longer hold his gaze.

"Don't you dare shut down on me now," he said, voice rising. "I know you must've been joking, because I never took you for someone passively suicidal."

My gaze snapped back to his. "I told you, Eric. I had a bad feeling about this. And you know as well as I do that my gut is rarely wrong. It's saved us more times than I can count."

"Then you should've waited until we had a plan. Together. One that doesn't involve you going rogue and poking a lion with a stick."

"I do have a plan."

He scoffed and shot me with a stony stare. "Oh? Enlighten me. Does it involve casting a spell on that agent to make him spill his secrets? Or do you have a stash of truth serum hidden somewhere?"

I rolled my eyes. "I know I can get him to open up about the case if I play my cards right." Letting out a sigh, I looked at Eric more intently. "I need to close that chapter, Eric. Put it behind me so I can finally get my life together.

"But to do that, I need to know I didn't leave any loose ends. I was the one on the ground that day doing the dirty work—if anything went wrong, it'd be me going down. What if there are more pictures? What if one of the guests recognized me?"

Crossing his arms, Eric squinted his eyes and leaned back into his chair. "You know, you really lack any sort of impulse control, don't you?"

Ignoring his remark, I stood up and walked to the kitchen. I pulled a glass from the cabinet, filled it with wine from the nearest bottle, and then sipped slowly as I leaned myself casually against the countertop. "You want some?"

His glare didn't waver. "I don't think getting cozy with the FBI agent is just about information for you. You're curious, and you're bored. But most people, when they're bored, read a book. I recommend The Mars Room. It's about life in prison."

That was subtle. I have to give him that. Also, I couldn't help but notice the underlying accusation in his remark.

I shrugged. "So that's a no on the wine."

I returned to the living room. Settling back on the couch, I took a sip of my glass before saying, "Look, it's no use crying over spilled milk. If you've got a better plan, I'm all ears."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, now you want my help?"

When I said nothing, he continued. "Obviously, you should forget that meeting ever happened and go underground for a while. Better yet, leave the country and stay with Mom and Dad."

I froze, anger bubbling in my chest. "Right. Because ditching everything and living in the shadows for the rest of my life is exactly what I want."

"If you're so aching for that mundane life, Emma, you shouldn't have agreed to participate in the damn heist in the first place."

"Like you would've ever let me hear the end of it." I took another sip of wine, hoping it would help me swallow down the mix of emotions churning inside.

Eric's jaw tightened and his eyes flashed with anger. "I'm sorry I'm such a nuisance, sis."

The sting of remorse hit me like a truck. Biting my lower lip, I looked away, letting the silence stretch as I searched for the right words. After another sip of wine, I forced myself to meet his gaze, which was still as hard as a nail.

"I'm sorry, Eric. I..." I found myself floundering for words. "You know, I didn't mean that. I chose to participate in the heist, and I'm not trying to throw blame at you.

I paused, steadying myself. "I just have this sinking feeling I can't shake. I had to do something about it. I'll admit I took a leap without looking or thinking it through. And I should've told you. We're in this together, after all."

"Are we, Emma?" His tone was sharp. "Because for a while there, it seemed like you forgot."

It was my turn to give him a cold stare. "I already apologized, Eric. If you don't want anything to do with him, that's your choice, and I'll respect it. But I'm not backing out."

He sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. After a long pause, he finally said, "For now, we should focus on selling the painting."

It wasn't lost on me that he hadn't said whether he was in or not, but I was grateful for the shift in topic. "Honestly, I think we should hold off on that for a while."

"What are you suggesting? Should we hang a Van Gogh in our living room?"

"I mean selling it on the black market right now would be too risky," I said flatly. "Most fences have no problem snitching to the feds if they're offered a slice of the pie. There's no harm in storing it for a while. It might even increase in value. Besides, we're not exactly hurting for cash."

From the look on his face, I knew Eric wasn't convinced. I watched him with a skeptical eye, as I knew his brain was full of racing thoughts, and I didn't feel comfortable with the fact that he wasn't sharing them with me.

I grimaced. I probably should have thought of that before going rogue on him.

"A penny for your thoughts," I finally said, cutting the thick silence.

His brows furrowed slightly. "I think you should focus all your attention on your suicide mission and leave the rest of the 'dirty work' to me." He used his fingers to mimic air quotes around my earlier words. "I've already put a plan in motion to buy us some time, and there's an interested buyer the FBI won't be able to trace."

"Who?"

"I'll let you know," he answered curtly.

Eric stood abruptly, grabbing his car keys from the table. Before I could get another word in, he stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Feeling a sting of tears in my eyes, I buried my face in my palms and wondered how my life had gotten so damn complicated.

Maybe this was life's way of telling me that everything I wanted was nothing more than a pipedream. Maybe people like me didn't deserve second chances, after all.

But the funny thing about life? It didn't hand out rewards based on merit. Life favored those who fought—and fought hard—for what they wanted.

Wiping away the single tear that had escaped, I reached for the business card Jake had given me. With shaking fingers, I typed his number into my phone and composed a short text.

A voice in the back of my mind urged me to stop, warning me I was digging my own grave. But before I could let doubt creep in, I hit send and tossed the phone onto the couch beside me.

In war, there are always casualties. If Jake had to be the collateral damage in mine... I would have to learn to live with it.