Days passed with business resuming as normal in the Thieves Guild, except for the amount of gold flowing in. Everyone noticed the sudden change of their luck—clouds didn't shift anymore for moonlight to reveal them, guards didn't conveniently look in their direction as they broke into a house or business, and they were now successful in pickpocketing. The Cistern had improved with new furnishings. A merchant occupied each niche in The Ragged Flagon, they nearly had a new recruit every day, and Vekel had so much business now from thirsty or hungry thieves. But still, Macayla hadn't reappeared.

Brynjolf thought she had had enough time and space to see through everything and come to her senses. Perhaps it hadn't been enough time, but he was getting frustrated waiting for her to come back. He longed to see her again; make sure she was alright. And there was still the issue about Guildmaster...

He walked into The Ragged Flagon to ask Vekel or Dirge if they had seen her. Delvin Mallory had returned from his recent mission and was sitting at his usual table. Brynjolf decided to check in on the Guild's Second for his input on the Guild's progress. He took a seat across from him, drawing his attention from his meal.

"Seems things are looking up," he began.

"I've never seen the Guild this busy; Macayla's made e'eryone down 'ere very rich an' happy."

Hearing her name changed his tactic on asking Vekel or Dirge. "Speaking of Macayla, have you seen her?"

Delvin took his time chewing as he thought about what to say. "Course; she comes in all the time askin' me or Vex for jobs."

"She does?" Hearing that she had been seen was a relief, but her refusing to see him by purposely avoiding him by coming through the Ratway instead of the Cistern, meant she was still mad at him.

"Why the surprise?"

"Nothing. I just haven't seen her in a while and want to make sure she's alright."

"Al'right, that's it." Delvin put down his utensils and looked at him. "Both of you need to stop this deflectin'; when she comes in, 'er eyes are constantly searchin' an' she practically runs out like she don't want to be caught 'ere. Now what's goin' on? Have a lovers' spat?"

Brynjolf glared at him. "We are not lovers."

He scoffed. "You should be; you nearly can't keep your eyes off the other. I don't havta be a priest of Mara to see that you care for the other."

Brynjolf sighed heavily. It had hurt so much when she looked at him in anger and just completely blew him off; his pain only increased each day with her no-show, but learning that she purposely avoided him hurt even more.

"She found out that Nocturnal had been possessing her, and that I knew without telling her; she was so angry at me for that. We haven't spoken since the Twilight Sepulcher; in fact, I haven't seen her since then."

"Does she know that Nocturnal told you not to tell 'er?"

He shook his head. "She didn't let me explain."

"Does she know that all of us knew?"

"I think she thinks only Karliah and I knew."

Delvin remained quiet as he thought. "That is somethin'."

Brynjolf sat back in his seat. "And she's probably also avoiding me to keep from discussing the title of Guildmaster. I offered it to her before we left for Irkngthand and she didn't seem thrilled about it."

"She'd be a good one."

Both of them fell silent for a while. Brynjolf had not only offered the place to her because he knew she could do it, but he also did it out of selfish reasons: if she would've accepted it, Macayla wouldn't be inclined to just suddenly leave him.

"Look, Bryn," Delvin began, "next time I see 'er I'll talk with 'er about bein' Guildmaster; I'll make it seem like I thought about it, not you. I'll see if she'd be up for it an' tell you."

He would prefer it if he could talk to her, but he had to take what he could get. Brynjolf nodded, then stood. "I hope you can convince her to stay."

Delvin looked at him incredulously. "You think she would leave?"

"I don't know if she feels there's a reason to stay, even though there's a lot."

***

Delvin came to him a day later to tell him Macayla would accept the role of Guildmaster. Brynjolf was beyond relieved to know for sure that she wouldn't choose to just up and leave one day; wanting to become Guildmaster meant that she felt a sense of dedication to the Guild. Maybe this also meant she was starting to come around since she would now be seeing him every day.

He arranged it for Delvin to bring her in from the Flagon and her induction ceremony would happen in the middle of the Cistern. Everyone was in attendance—even Maven Black-Briar—to see the dubbing of the new Guildmaster.

The Cistern's door opened to admit Macayla and Delvin. She wasn't wearing her Nightingale armor anymore; she was back in her normal leather jerkin, leggings and boots. Macayla looked perfectly hale and back to herself, but as they both headed for the center, her eyes on his were still hard.

She stopped before the semi-circle of Karliah, him and Vex; Delvin joined in on the semi-circle beside the white haired Nord.

Brynjolf found his mouth dry as Macayla looked at him expectantly. She was so beautiful—even though she looked distant—and he loved her so much he ached every second that she didn't know; he thought about confessing his love of her right then, but his more logical and professional side thankfully took over.

"I've never been good at these things, so I'll keep it short." His voice remained steady, even though his insides were trembling. "Lass, you've done so much for us, and I haven't thanked you for everything—you brought life back into the Guild. So, thanks, but I could never say it enough.

"Being Guildmaster means more than just getting a cut out of all the loot. It's about being a leader and keeping this rabble in order. With that in mind, I propose the position of Guildmaster be yours." He looked to the Guild's Second. "Delvin?"

He grinned at Macayla. "Agreed."

Brynjolf looked at the Third. "Vex?"

The impassive woman shrugged but had a smile on her lips. "Sure, why not?"

Finally, to the Dunmer and other Nightingale. "Karliah?"

She nodded. "Absolutely."

He turned back to Macayla. "Everyone is in agreement, so all I can do now is name you Guildmaster and wish you fortune and a long life."

A round of applause, whistling and hollers of well-wishes echoed around them. Brynjolf reached into a pocket as he stepped up to her. "One more thing."

He pulled out a triangular pendant on a gray ribbon—the amulet of articulation usually was a necklace, but he changed it for her. "It's sort of tradition to give new Guildmasters this: it's a charm to give you luck, wealth, and protection. It's normally a necklace, but I know you don't care much for jewelry." He handed it to her.

She took it but averted her eyes down to it to admire it. "Thanks," she said quietly.

In this close proximity, it was difficult for him not to lift her chin and crush his lips on hers—he could ignore the catcalls he knew would sound around them if he did. His hands clenched to restrain from reaching out to her; Macayla's form looked tense, like she waited for him to do something. The awkwardness built between them.

"Guess it's time to getta work, boss," Delvin suggested.

Macayla grunted as she stored the pendant in a pocket, then moved past Brynjolf without a glance. Delvin turned to walk with her to the Guildmaster's desk and Vex headed back for the Flagon. Their movement awoke everyone else, and they dispersed.

Brynjolf released all the air in his lungs. He had no clue on how he could approach her and if she would ever accept his apology.

Karliah laid a hand on his shoulder. "She'll let you in."

He looked back at her standing at the desk with Delvin; he held a ledger and explained some entry to her.

He wondered when she would.

***

Macayla had effortlessly adjusted into the role of Guildmaster. Mercer had done a poor job keeping track of the Guild's income and spending, names of current members, and maintaining connection to contacts. The first few days it felt like her hand was going to forever stayed cramped from writing so many letters and correcting incorrect records. It didn't take long for the Vault to be rebuilt and she constantly added to the log from the gold amount being increased or some valuable added. She even had a private meeting with Maven Black-Briar—she was impressed at Macayla's efficiency to turn everything around in so short of time.

She had been so busy her first week in her new job title that she barely noticed Brynjolf quietly lurking about. She could only guess that he wanted to talk, but she didn't have time to stop and talk.

Well, she could've, but she didn't want to. Not long after leaving the Twilight Sepulcher, she realized her anger toward Brynjolf was misplaced; she was mad at Nocturnal using her and mad at herself for failing to realize what was going on within her.

But she was mainly scared that what she had thought was her feelings for Brynjolf were actually Nocturnal's. She would be crushed if she found out that it wasn't her that Brynjolf loved, but Nocturnal. Macayla struggled to differentiate her memories and emotions apart from the Nocturnal-her; every time she thought she had it figured out, doubt would creep in on if they could even be separated in the first place. What was her and what wasn't? Or was it all one and not the other, and which one was it?

It was easier for her to show anger than her frustration. If she had talked over her dilemma with him, then and if he would've shown even the slightest hesitation or doubt on which he had come to care about, her heart would've stopped. She had to figure it out herself, but she wasn't any farther than where she started.

Things finally started to level out the start of her second week, so Macayla could breathe some. She stood at her desk reviewing a ledger of their recent accumulations when she felt Brynjolf approaching her. Macayla still wasn't ready to talk.

"I've got important things to do; we'll talk another time."

He, on the other hand, was ready. "No, we're going to talk now."

"I can't, Brynjolf."

"You are." He suddenly snatched the ledger out of her hands and tossed it on her desk.

She whirled on him. "What are—"

He grabbed her arms. "Listen to me! I didn't tell you Nocturnal was in you because she told me not to. Don't you think I wanted to? All of us did! We were all here to see her come out of you and it scared the shit out of us! But she's a Daedric Lord—a Daedric Lord!—and we weren't about to go against her and piss her off! We didn't know what she would do; she could've taken it out on you instead of us. She nearly did at the Twilight Sepulcher if I hadn't had stood up to her! She was trying to keep you to herself; forcing you to forever stay by her side when you can perfectly serve her living." His voice had risen and fallen out of frustration.

Macayla was speechless; she had had no idea on what Nocturnal had done to them and what she had been trying to do: keep her soul for her own security. And she had no idea Brynjolf had forcibly stood up to the dangerous Daedric Lord to save her—no one denied a Daedra without forfeiting one's life, and he did it for hers, not his. She could see his paralyzing fear at losing her trembling in his emerald eyes.

He slowly released her; she hadn't released he had yanked her closer to him or that her toes barely touched the floor.

Brynjolf calmed down, surprised and embarrassed at himself for letting go. His eyes suddenly watered up. "You were dead in my arms, Macayla; Nocturnal tried to convince me that you had always been dead, you had died because of Edvar—who I knew wasn't you but her." He shook his head, and the moisture disappeared. "I didn't believe it and I told her; I called her out on her lie and threatened her if she didn't return you to me. I thought she didn't think I was serious, but then you woke up and looked at me with so much hatred... I was stunned. I had just laid my head on the chopping block for you, only to be rebuffed and ignored."

He shut his eyes to control his emotions, then re-opened them after a while. "I still don't understand; why?"

Her immediate knee-jerk reaction of anger had hurt him so much; he had practically sacrificed himself only for her to revive him and drive a sword through his chest. The complete confusion and pain still in his eyes was heartbreaking.

She took a shaky breath as her eyes turned down and she hugged herself for comfort. "I'm sorry, Brynjolf. I didn't know that I had hurt you, and I didn't know what Nocturnal tried to do—that's been blocked from me.

"But I felt hurt too—not by you, but by her; I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you. I was mainly mad at myself and scared; I had just learned that another woman had been living in me. So, was it me or her the whole time?" Water brimmed in her eyes. "I was scared that everything I thought that belonged to me wasn't. And I didn't want to talk it over with you because I couldn't see the same doubt in your eyes. I wasn't who either of us thought I was."

Silence took over as quiet tears rolled down Macayla's face; there wasn't a single sound in the Cistern. She dreaded what she would find on Brynjolf's face, so she didn't look up.

"Lass..." His hand drifted under her chin and brought her head up so her eyes could meet his. Brynjolf's eyes were soft but also steady. "It was you I fell in love with, Macayla; it was always you."

His lips found hers in a gentle kiss. A hand rose to hold his head closer to hers as she kissed him back. She had so stubbornly held back when it had been easier to talk it over with him; she had been hurting them both instead of protecting him. His love for her was just as steady and sure as his heartbeats.

"About bloody time!" Delvin suddenly yelled out.

They broke apart to see all the thieves gathered in the Cistern with smiles on their faces. Brynjolf's chest rumbled as he chuckled; Macayla turned back to him with a smile as she wrapped her arms around his back and ducked into his neck. He held her even tighter as he kissed her jaw and laid his cheek against her head.

She had finally foundwhere she belonged.