Chapter 30 #3
Behind us, flames had finally broken through the roof above Saint Brigid's east wing. Fire lit the rain orange as smoke rolled into the evening sky, turning the old chapel into a dark silhouette against something that looked almost biblical in its violence.
Skye turned toward the building.
"The archive."
"Gone."
"Not all of it."
Cipher's voice interrupted.
"I got more than you think."
We both looked toward Trigger's radio.
"What?"
"Eli pulled the administrative server before the network died. Partial resident database, financial mirror, current transfer schedule, and enough index material to reconstruct some of the paper archive."
Skye exhaled.
"And Declan's archive still exists."
"Aye," I said.
So did Finn's case.
Harrow had burned Saint Brigid's because he believed destroying one building could erase the truth.
He was fifteen years too late.
Maverick's voice came through next.
"Lost Harrow."
The satisfaction disappeared.
"Where?"
"Vehicle switched outside Galway. We found the sedan abandoned. No driver. Cameras wiped around the junction."
Vale's fingerprints were all over it: security, counter-surveillance, and exactly the kind of clean disappearance Cipher had warned us he specialized in.
"If Harrow is the planner," I said quietly, "Vale makes sure nobody sees the plan move."
Cipher answered, "That's about right."
I stared at the burning building.
Harrow had escaped again, but the knowledge no longer carried quite the same power to make every other success feel meaningless. The knowledge should've been unbearable.
Instead, I looked toward the line of extraction vehicles beyond the wall. Grace sat inside one with her mother. Daniel was visible through another open door while a medic examined his ankle. Women and men who had expected another transfer were being asked where they wanted to go.
Twenty-three living people were standing or sitting inside those extraction vehicles because we had chosen them over the man who escaped, and Skye was alive beside me as well.
For the first time, that choice didn't feel like failure, and the realization was new enough that I wasn't certain what to do with it.
My phone vibrated and I saw Toxic’s name light up on the screen.
"We're out."
"Everyone?"
"Twenty-three residents. All accounted."
"And your people?"
I looked at Skye.
"All out."
A pause.
"Harrow?"
"Gone."
"You chase him?"
"No."
Another, longer pause followed before Toxic finally said, "Good." It was only one word, but there was no judgment about Harrow escaping and no question about whether I'd missed my chance, only approval that I'd made the right choice when it mattered.
"Found proof before the fire?" he asked.
"Some. Cipher pulled server data. Da's archive is untouched at the farmhouse. Finn's case too."
"Then Harrow burned a building and lost twenty-three people."
I looked toward Saint Brigid's.
"Aye."
"That's not winning."
The line ended a minute later as I stood there and let rain run down my face and lowered the phone. I looked over to see Skye watching me.
"What?"
"Toxic thinks Harrow lost tonight."
"He's right."
"He escaped."
"For now."
I studied her.
She moved closer.
"You had a choice between pursuing him and carrying Daniel out."
"Aye."
"You chose Daniel."
"I'd choose him again."
"I know."
Skye didn't lecture me about what the decision meant, explain how much I'd changed, or attempt to turn it into something noble. She simply understood why I'd made it, and that was enough.
An emergency vehicle appeared on the distant road, lights reflecting across wet stone.
Authorities were coming up the road, and questions would follow close behind them.
By morning, Declan's evidence would be in the hands of people capable of reopening four murders that had sat unanswered for fifteen years.
Saint Brigid's survivors would begin giving statements if and when they chose.
Cipher's records would connect Harrow, Vale, Croft, Blackridge, Alderwick, and the network of properties moving people through Ireland and Britain.
The Order wasn't finished and neither was Harrow, but something inside the fight had changed tonight.
Fifteen years ago, Gideon Harrow had come into my life by taking everyone I loved and teaching me that survival meant leaving before anyone else could matter enough to hurt.
Tonight Harrow had tried teaching me the same lesson again by threatening Skye, burning evidence, leaving residents inside a dying building, and putting himself close enough that chasing him would've been painfully easy. I hadn't taken the bait.
Skye's fingers slid into mine. I looked down at our joined hands. Then back at the flames.
Harrow could run, Vale could hide him, and the rest of the Order could scatter across every property they still controlled, but we would find them.Not because I was willing to die chasing what remained of my family through the dark.
Because I had finally learned there were people worth staying alive to come home to.
And for the first time, that felt far more dangerous to the men we were hunting than revenge ever had.