Chapter 16
Eamon
I stepped out onto the deck and let the wind catch my coat, the scent of salt strong enough to wake my foggy brain. The sun was already beginning its ascent into the sky and the sound of water splashing against the boat’s hull was constant.
Bishop stood at the rail, forearms resting against the metal, his posture composed like it always was.
Tamsin stood beside him, close but not clinging, her shoulder leaned into his arm as if it belonged there.
She’d tilted her head slightly, listening to something he was saying, and the look on her face stopped me mid-step.
She was smiling.
Not the fierce, determined smile she wore when she was planning or fighting. Not the grim one she’d carried through triage and burial.
This one was soft.
Unburdened.
For a moment, I stayed right where I was and just let myself watch.
A quiet, unexpected warmth spread through my chest at the sight of her just being… happy. Truly happy. The kind that didn’t need to be defended or explained.
She deserved that.
All of it.
I didn’t rush them. I knew better than to interrupt a moment like that. Instead, I leaned against the bulkhead and waited, listening to the water and the faint murmur of Bishop’s voice carried away by the wind.
Eventually, Tamsin shifted and caught sight of me.
Her smile widened.
“There you are,” she said, like she’d been expecting me all along.
Bishop glanced over, nodded once in greeting, and I grinned in return. I joined them at the rail, the three of us standing shoulder to shoulder as the boat cut through dark water.
“I was checking on you,” I said lightly. “Professional habit.”
She arched a brow. “My ass is still sore, thank you very much.”
“Good,” I chuckled, and she rolled her eyes.
I reached for her hand without thinking about it, fingers wrapping gently around her wrist. Her pulse beat steady beneath my thumb. I let my touch linger, not wanting to let go right away.
“You look radiant,” I said quietly.
Her cheeks warmed faintly. “That’s a dangerous word to use on a girl like me.”
“I mean it in the least dangerous way possible,” I replied. “Your temperature’s normal. Heart rate’s good. You’re not showing any signs of your heat anymore.”
She exhaled, her shoulders relaxing a little “Well, that’s good. It would kind of be bad timing for more of that.”
We stood there a moment longer, the three of us watching the water peel away behind the boat.
“How are you holding up?” I asked her, quieter now.
She thought about it for a moment and then answered. “I’m tired,” she admitted.
“I have a little something that may help with that,” I grinned and she looked toward me, her eyes brimming with curiosity.
I reached into the pocket of my coat and drew out a bottle. I held it up slightly in offering.
“Found this,” I said. “Hidden behind the antiseptics in the med bay. Apparently, the Watch doctors were the work hard, play hard type.”
Her eyes lit with amusement. “Is that bourbon?”
“Judging by the scent and the fact that I already might have tested it once or twice, yes,” I answered.
Bishop gave a low huff.
With a smirk, I passed it to Tamsin.
She took it, hesitated just a second, then drank, a bit less cautiously than I expected. When she handed it back, there was a pleased glint in her eye.
“That is dangerous,” she mused, smirking.
“I specialize in controlled risks,” I replied.
Bishop accepted the bottle next, then passed it back to me. Footsteps sounded behind us, light and familiar.
Nox appeared out of the shadows like he always did, hands in his pockets, eyes already assessing the scene. He took in the bottle, our loose circle, and raised his eyebrows.
“Well,” he said, amused. “Looks like it’s a party.”
I held the bourbon up. “Want to join us?”
Nox grinned. “I knew I liked you.”
He grabbed the bottle and took a sip, then he leaned in beside Tamsin, resting his forearms on the rail. “You look good,” he said to her.
She smiled. “So do you.”
He snorted. “Liar.”
“Okay,” she said suddenly, looking to each of the three of us. “I have an important question.”
Nox’s brow lifted. “That’s never good.”
Bishop’s mouth twitched. “Define important.”
Tamsin glanced at both of them with a faint genuine smile. “Tell me your favorite joke.”
I blinked, taken aback. “A joke.”
“Yes,” she said. “A joke. One you actually find funny. I’m tired of having to be serious all the time and, while you’re all sexy and hot when you’re trying to be intimidating, I want something different.”
Nox scoffed. “You love it when we intimidate you.”
She didn’t answer. She just blushed.
Honestly, it was adorable.
Bishop inhaled slowly, as if bracing himself. “Is this an interrogation?”
“It’s a morale exercise,” she stated, deadpan. Then added, softer, “We’ve seen enough fighting and blood and death lately. I want to laugh.”
Nox stared at her for a beat, then nodded once, as if he understood the real request beneath the playful one.
“Fine,” he said. “But I’m going last.”
“Coward,” Tamsin teased.
“I’m strategic,” he replied.
“All right then,” I said. “I’ll go first.”
Tamsin turned toward me, expectant.
I smirked, already feeling slightly ridiculous. “It’s not… particularly refined.”
“Good!” she exclaimed. “Refined is overrated.”
I sighed. “A patient comes into my clinic—back when my clinic was still a clinic—and says, ‘Doctor, I think I’m a moth.’”
Nox’s mouth quirked. Bishop’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he was trying to predict where it was going.
Tamsin folded her arms, her brow furrowing. “Go on.”
“So I say, ‘Why on earth did you come to me? You need a psychiatrist.’ And the patient goes, ‘I know.’”
I paused just long enough.
“And I say, ‘Then why are you here?’”
Tamsin leaned in. “Yes?”
I lifted my hands in helplessness. “And then the patient says, ‘Because your light was on.’”
For a second, the wind filled the silence.
Then Bishop let out a surprised laugh.
Tamsin’s grin widened. “That’s awful.”
“I know,” I admitted.
Tamsin laughed openly, the sound bright enough to make my chest ache. “You win points for doctor humor.”
I smiled, took the bottle back, and took a big swig. Bishop reached for it next, took a small sip, and handed it off again.
Tamsin pointed at him. “Your turn, Bishop.”
He hesitated, and for a moment the old world flickered across his face, the polished boy at a gala, trained to be careful. Then he exhaled and gave in.
“All right,” he said. “But I want it on record that I am not naturally funny.”
“You’re funny,” Nox replied. “You just don’t know it.”
Bishop’s gaze slid to him. “I’m not taking feedback from you.”
Tamsin smirked. “Just tell the joke.”
Bishop leaned on the railing, looking out at the sea as if that made it easier. “This one’s from my father’s circles,” he said, and there was a quiet bitterness under the words that made me pay attention.
He continued anyway, voice even despite the inner conflict.
“Why did the politician cross the road?”
Nox groaned. “Oh, no.”
“To avoid making a decision,” Bishop said calmly.
A beat passed.
Then Tamsin laughed out loud. “That’s… painfully accurate.”
Nox snorted. “That’s not a joke. That’s a policy platform.”
Bishop’s mouth curved faintly. “I did say it was a political one.”
“I hate that it made me laugh,” Tamsin said, shaking her head.
“I’ll take that as success,” Bishop replied, entirely serious.
Tamsin turned to Nox with bright eyes. “All right, assassin. Your turn.”
Nox turned toward her, looking vaguely offended by the title even though he clearly enjoyed it.
“Come on! Your turn,” she grinned, her eyes locking on Nox. “Go.”
He stared at her for a long moment, as if deciding whether he’d give her a safe joke or one that would make her laugh despite herself.
Then he sighed dramatically. “Fine.”
He took the bottle, drank a little more than either Bishop or I had, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“All right,” he said at last, his mouth curving up in amusement. “I tried to go on a date once. Back in London.”
Tamsin blinked, her expression mockingly serious. “A date? You?”
“I know,” Nox replied. “She was the brave one. I showed up clean and on time, which was already a personal best. So, we’re sitting together, chatting, and she asks me what I do for work.”
Tamsin leaned forward a little, clearly already bracing herself for whatever was coming.
“I tell her,” Nox said, “that I smuggle wolves out of the country, steal military intel, and occasionally blow up government checkpoints if I’m feeling really spicy.”
“Was she thrilled?” Bishop asked.
Nox pointed. “She was. Said—and I quote—’So, you’re good with your hands then?’”
Tamsin groaned. “No, she did not…”
“Oh, yes,” Nox continued, his teeth flashing. “So, I looked her dead in the eye and said, ‘I’m better with my mouth.’”
There was a beat.
Then Tamsin burst out laughing, the kind of laugh that tipped her sideways into Bishop’s shoulder. Even Bishop cracked a smile, shaking his head.
“God help us,” I muttered, but I couldn’t stop the grin pulling at my mouth either.
Tamsin wiped at her eyes, still smiling. “Fine. You win. You win the whole stupid contest.”
Nox bowed slightly. “As I should.”
The bourbon bottle moved again, passed between hands in an easy rhythm. The wind kept tugging at us, the sea kept rolling, the engine kept humming steadily toward England.
And for a few minutes, we weren’t soldiers or wolves or fugitives.
We were just people on a boat, laughing at bad jokes because we’d all seen too much of the alternative.
Tamsin leaned back against the rail and sighed, a quieter sound now. “Thank you,” she said softly.
None of us asked what for, because we all knew.