EMMA

Cobble Hill was nothing like the Upper West Side, where we briefly lived when life was built on lies and adrenaline and stolen paintings.

With most of our stash and assets gone, surrendered in settlements, the legal battle, and the long fallout of the deal and the mess we made, the Upper West Side was a memory we couldn't afford anymore, not with an honest-life payout. But maybe that was never what we needed anyway.

Besides, this place felt more lived-in, with its quiet streets, tree-lined sidewalks, and warm brick buildings. I watched people walking dogs or pushing strollers or carrying groceries, like real life was something steady and possible.

Eric finally parked, turned off the engine, and looked at me. "Aly's probably already at the window."

"Maybe I need a minute to prepare. She cried on every single visit."

He lifted a brow. "She's emotional."

"And loud."

"And she loves you."

I smiled. "I know."

He squeezed my hand once before we both stepped out. The building was only three stories tall, with flower boxes on the windows. We climbed up to the second floor, and the moment Eric unlocked the door, a shriek echoed from inside.

"Emma!"

Alycia threw herself at me so hard I actually staggered back a step. Her arms wrapped around my neck, squeezing the air out of me, and she started crying before I even got my arms up to hug her back.

"God, you're here. You're actually here. Eric, she's here. Oh my God, Emma!" Her voice broke somewhere around the second here.

"I'm here." I laughed and patted her back, even as her tears soaked into my shirt. "You saw me two weeks ago, remember?"

"There was a table between us," she said between sobs. "And a guard who stared at me like I was going to shank someone."

"That was Ramirez. She stares at everyone."

Aly sniffed hard, finally pulling away to wipe her face. Then, immediately, she grabbed my hand and guided me inside.

"You look beautiful," she said, her hazel eyes studying every inch of me. "Your hair's longer, and you have color again. And wait, look!"

Before I could protest, she shoved her left hand in my face. The ring sparkled, familiar, and yet still a little shocking every time I saw it.

I smiled, shaking my head. "You remember I helped him pick it, right? And he had to take my blessing."

Aly grinned. "I don't care. Look at it again."

I laughed, and she pulled me into another hug. I was so happy for them, even if a part of me still didn't fully believe Eric had actually done it.

Behind us, Eric groaned. "Aly, you're suffocating her."

"She deserves affection," Aly shot back.

"So does oxygen."

Aly turned around to glare at him, then brightened again when she turned back to me. "I baked you a cake."

Eric and I shared a look. Oh no...

The cake was... a little lopsided, questionable in color, but definitely enthusiastic. And Aly presented it with both hands, as if it belonged on the cover of a cookbook.

"I Googled a recipe," she announced proudly.

I took a forkful. Eric did so reluctantly, like every wise man preparing for married life.

We chewed, we nodded, and we swallowed with visible effort.

"It's great," Eric forced out.

"Really good," I said.

Aly beamed.

Five seconds later, when she turned to grab plates, Eric and I simultaneously spat the rest of the bites into our napkins.

"You two are children," Aly said when she caught us, though she was smiling, shaking her head. "Absolute children."

We ended up spending nearly two hours on their couch, talking about everything and nothing. About the past, the future, weddings, jobs, and how strange and miraculous it felt to just... sit in a normal living room again.

Aly held my hand half the time. Eric rested a protective arm on the back of the sofa behind me. And for the first time since I had stepped out of that gate, I felt the edges of something I hadn't dared hope for... home.

Not the place, but the people. The ones who always stayed.

They had offered—well, insisted, really—to let me live with them. But I refused.

Eric and I had been a team for most of our lives, but he had his own future now. A grown-up one, a stable one. And as for me... I was still figuring out what "normal" looked like. What freedom looked like. What I looked like outside of concrete walls and schedules and consequences.

I needed space to breathe on my own. To fail on my own. To rise on my own.

So Eric rented me a small one-bedroom apartment just a few blocks away. He claimed it was for my "sense of independence," but we both knew the truth. For the peace of his heart, he needed me within a three-minute radius. I didn't argue.

Eric drove me there and hugged me one more time after I got out of the car, reminding me, without saying it, that no matter how bad things got, I had one person who would always show up.

"Call me if you need anything," he said into my hair. "Anything, Em. I mean it."

I nodded against his chest. "I know."

He reluctantly let me go and watched as I walked toward the brownstone where he had rented my place.

I could feel his eyes on my back until I disappeared inside.

When I finally opened the apartment door, I smiled.

Light spilled through the windows in soft rectangles, warming the hardwood floors. The walls were bare, but they didn't feel empty, because I knew Eric had left them that way for me to fill.

The furniture was simple, brand new, and mismatched in a way that showed Eric had tried his best but had absolutely no idea how colors worked.

I walked straight to the balcony first. It wasn't anything fancy, just a square of concrete and a black metal railing, but it overlooked a quiet Brooklyn street.

It wasn't the million-dollar skyline view Eric and I once had, but it still had the magic of New York.

Cars hummed below. Someone laughed across the street. A couple argued halfheartedly, probably over the right subway line. A kid pedaled past on a bike too small for him.

It was just... life. And God, I had missed life.

I leaned on the railing, letting the breeze brush over my face. I wondered if any of these people ever screwed up as badly as I did. If any of them had ever hit rock bottom and clawed their way back up.

I hoped they had made it. I hoped I would.

After a long moment, I turned back inside. Eric had set up everything—fresh sheets, a stocked fridge, and a few new clothes in the wardrobe. He even left a laptop on the kitchen table.

I sat down slowly, lifted the lid, and let my fingers brush over the keyboard. Then, I reached for the flash drive Eric had given me earlier.

I hesitated. Part of me wanted to shove it in a drawer, pretend it didn't exist, pretend I wasn't still someone's daughter.

But I plugged it in anyway, saw a video sitting there like it had been waiting for me, and hit play.

My breath caught in my chest when they popped up on the screen. Vivienne and Elias Monroe sat side by side, still as elegant and composed in that effortless way they had always possessed, even when running from one continent to another, even when hiding in plain sight.

They were indoors, with just a plain wall behind them. They could've been anywhere. A rented house in Portugal. A safe flat in Prague. A cabin in the mountains. I had no idea.

I knew they had done it deliberately, so Eric and I wouldn't use the very skills they had taught us to try and find them.

My mother spoke first, her voice soft. And despite sounding steady, I could still hear the little tremor she tried to hide.

"Emma, sweetheart... we miss you. More than we can ever say."

My father nodded beside her, his hand resting over hers. His eyes were tired and sad in a way that cracked something deep inside me.

"We are sorry," he said. "For the life you and Eric inherited. For not protecting you from it sooner. For not trying harder."

My throat tightened, and I felt a burning sensation behind my eyes.

"We're stepping out of your lives," my mother continued, swallowing. "Completely. We don't want you or your brother to try to find us."

I blinked hard, my vision blurring.

My father's voice softened. "Eric is building a real life. He'll be a husband. A father. And you, my little wolf." He smiled a little at the nickname, and his eyes welled. "You're rebuilding yours. And as long as we remain close, the danger will always follow you."

They exchanged a glance, one I knew must've been filled with grief and pride and a lifetime of unspoken things.

My mother leaned slightly forward, like she wanted to reach through the screen. "Live, Emma. Shine. Give the world the version of you we always knew you could be, because when you unleash the good in you... nothing can stop you."

My father nodded in agreement, his expression breaking just a fraction. "We love you... always."

The video ended, and the screen faded to black.

I sat there, motionless, my fingers still hovering over the keyboard. Then slowly, quietly, I closed the laptop.

A tear slid down my cheek. I wiped it away, but I couldn't stop the ones that followed.

"I'll try," I whispered into the stillness of the room. My voice shook, but the words felt real. "I'll really, really try."