Epilogue #2
Oh no. Absolutely not. My eyes were already hot.
Helena Wallace, who had likely never lost a fight to tear ducts in her life, continued without mercy.
“Quinn Bradley came to us as an intern,” Helena said. “During the Virelli matter, she didn’t merely assist. She changed the direction of the case.”
Rafe stroked the back of my hand with his thumb.
“She saw value where others saw inconvenience. She noticed people who had been treated as peripheral and understood that they were often the ones holding the key piece of information. She asked sharper questions than people with more authority, and she had the discipline not to mistake charm for strategy or instinct for evidence.”
My throat tightened.
Helena’s gaze held firm on mine, and somehow that made it worse.
“She is observant, relentless, and unusually humane in a field that too often rewards detachment over empathy. This practice group will require attorneys who can read documents, yes, but also rooms. Motives. Silences. The difference between what an institution says and what a person needs before they can tell the truth.”
Beside me, Moira made a small sound and immediately pretended she had not.
Helena continued. “Quinn has already proven she can do that work. Payton & Wallace is pleased to announce that she will join the firm full-time as a legal fellow in the Cultural Restitution and Provenance Practice Group while she completes her final requirements. Upon bar passage and admission, she will be offered an associate position with the team.”
For a moment, I forgot there were people in the room.
Then Helena’s mouth softened by the smallest possible amount.
“We’re fortunate to have her.”
Then Moira whooped. She didn’t clap, she whooped in a most undignified manner.
Several partners startled. Rafe’s father laughed. Avery, who must have slipped in behind us, whistled with such force that Max barked once in apparent support.
The room applauded.
Mom reached me first. She hugged me with both arms and the same fierce certainty she had brought to every rented apartment, tuition bill, and bad day of my childhood.
Dad waited until she let go, then put one hand behind my head and kissed my forehead.
“Smartest person I know,” he said.
“You say that about Mom.”
“What can I say? I know two very smart people.”
Mom wiped beneath one eye and looked at Helena as if considering whether the managing partner also needed a hug. Helena took a measured step backward.
I laughed, which saved us all.
I stood there under it, hand in Rafe’s, feeling praise hit every part of me that still expected a bill to follow.
Rafe leaned closer, his mouth near my ear.
“You earned this,” he said.
I swallowed hard. “I know.”
And the strange thing was, I did.
I had earned this.
Max pressed his shoulder against my leg, so I rested my other hand on his head.
After the announcement, the evening turned into a blur of congratulations.
Moira hugged me hard enough to threaten ribs.
Cressler told me my Fenwick service memo had become “training material, unfortunately.” Helena shook my hand and said, “Do not make me regret this,” which from her felt like being knighted.
Octavia arrived in a black velvet suit and enormous earrings, took one look at me, and said, “Good. The dress survived the emotions.”
“Barely.”
Avery appeared beside her holding a champagne flute and wearing her silk suit dress that made three women nearby pretend not to look twice. Behind her, Elena from Mr. Alvarez’s hot dog cart gave me a shy little wave.
I gasped. “Oh my god.”
Avery’s eyes narrowed. “Do not make this a thing.”
“It’s already a thing.”
Elena smiled. “Hi, Quinn.”
“Hi. I love this for everyone,” I said with a grin.
Avery pointed at me. “Job night. Focus.”
“I can contain multitudes.”
“You can barely contain your eyeliner.”
“Fair.”
Rafe, who had come up behind me, murmured, “You seem happy.”
“I am aggressively happy. It may become everyone’s problem.”
“It already has,” Avery said.
Max chose that moment to abandon dignity and lean against Rafe’s father, who had approached with Aoi on his arm.
Rafael Virelli bent to greet him. “Good evening, Max.”
Max’s tail wagged.
Aoi looked luminous in a soft silver dress, her dark hair pinned back with a comb I recognized from the recovered relics display photographs.
Not the relic itself, obviously. A reproduction Rafe had commissioned for her, so she could wear the shape of what had come home without risking the fragile original.
Her gaze moved around the room, taking in faces, candles, glass cases. For a moment, I saw the Fog at the edges. The slight uncertainty. The way Rafael’s hand steadied at her back without making it obvious.
Then her eyes landed on me.
“Sunshine,” she said.
“Hi, Aoi.”
She took my hands. “You aren’t an intern tonight.”
I laughed, then realized she wasn’t teasing.
“No,” I said softly. “I guess I’m not.”
“You brought things back,” she said. Her fingers tightened around mine. “Not just bronze and gold. My boy.”
I looked at Rafe.
His face had gone still in that way that told me he was feeling too much and would rather be set on fire than discuss it in front of guests.
Aoi touched my cheek. “He was standing outside himself for a long time.”
The room seemed to quiet around us, though conversations continued nearby.
“I didn’t do that alone,” I said.
“No,” she agreed. “Love is not a thing one person carries alone. That would be very bad design.”
A laugh caught in my throat, too close to a sob.
Aoi smiled, then looked down at Max. “And you brought the soldier.”
Max lifted his head.
“The soldier brought himself,” I said. “He is very independent.”
“Good.” Aoi nodded gravely. “Dragons need friends who aren’t easily impressed.”