CHAPTER 34
Ailish
By the time I step into the training room, the air already smells faintly of gun oil and floor mats warming under the overhead lights. It’s become a familiar scent over the past weeks—one I never expected would feel grounding.
Mackenzie is stretching her arms, rolling her shoulders like she’s preparing for a marathon rather than a weapons session held over Zoom with Ronan.
Nadia lounges against a wall, scrolling through her phone while tapping her boot rhythmically against the floor.
She looks bored, but the spark in her eyes always gives away how alert she really is.
Declan hovers at my side like a nervous bodyguard disguised as a tyrant.
He’s making sure I don’t lift anything heavier than a water bottle, though I’m only halfway through my pregnancy and still mobile enough to sprint if needed.
He keeps acting like I might faint or break in half.
I swear he watches the angle of every step I take.
“Ronan says he’s logging on in two minutes,” Mackenzie announces, tying her hair back. “Everyone ready?”
“I’m ready,” I say.
“No, she’s not,” Declan mutters beside me, adjusting the strap on the lightweight pistol belt I’m allowed to use only during training sessions. “She barely slept last night.”
I glare at him. “I slept fine.”
“You snored.”
I blink. “I did not.”
Nadia snorts. “Oh, this is going to be fun today. Ailish, honey, he’s nesting.”
“I am not nesting,” Declan snaps, indignant, which only amuses them more.
“Yes, you are,” Mackenzie says with a grin. “You’re treating her like she’s made of eggshells instead of being one of the more competent people in this whole damn place.”
He grunts like he’s being personally insulted by the truth, but his hand moves instinctively to my lower back, steadying me as I lower myself onto a mat. The instinct is what gets me—it always does. He’s rough and sharp-edged with everyone else. With me, right now, he’s something else entirely.
The screen lights up. Ronan appears in grainy detail from wherever Liam has him on assignment, his voice booming through the speaker.
“Alright girls, and whatever category Declan fits into,” Ronan says. “Let’s get to work.”
Nadia laughs outright. Declan mutters something under his breath that sounds half threat, half apology.
The session begins with basic defensive maneuvers—stances, weight shifts, grip adjustments. Nothing too intense since my center of gravity keeps… evolving. Declan hovers like a storm cloud every time I so much as twist, visibly restraining himself from repositioning me like he used to.
Ronan notices immediately.
“Declan,” he says, “if you touch her one more time, I’m sending a drone to slap you.”
Mackenzie nearly collapses laughing. Nadia claps once. It’s a whole event.
Declan grinds his jaw. “I’m not touching her.”
“You’re breathing at her,” Ronan fires back. “Back up.”
I can’t help it—I smile. It escapes me before I can hide it, a sudden warm flicker of something light, something I haven’t felt in what feels like ages. Declan sees it, and even though he tries to keep his expression neutral, some of the tension around his eyes eases.
We move through drills. Mackenzie is precise, focused.
Nadia is surprisingly graceful, a quick learner when she stops pretending she’s not paying attention.
Declan ends up demonstrating stances beside me, his broad frame blocking half the screen.
He’s infuriating and protective and so earnest that I almost want to kick him just to stop the hovering.
At one point, Ronan has us practice dropping to a knee and coming back up—something I can still do, though it takes more concentration.
Declan steps toward me instinctively, hands lifted to catch my elbow.
I shoot him a look. “Declan. I’m pregnant, not geriatric.”
“You’re pregnant with my kid,” he fires back softly.
The room goes silent for a second—not awkward, just… aware. Mackenzie’s eyes soften. Nadia watches us with a strange sort of fondness as she adjusts the safety on her unloaded practice gun. Even Ronan pauses on the screen.
I hold Declan’s gaze. He holds mine. Then I lower myself to one knee slowly, steady, breathing evenly. I rise again without wobbling, without faltering.
He exhales so quietly I almost miss it.
Nadia claps. “Look at her. Stronger than all of us.”
Mackenzie nudges me. “See? You don’t need him hovering.”
“No one needs him hovering,” Ronan says.
Declan flips him off. Ronan flips him off back. The girls cheer.
Despite the banter, I know Declan is tracking every shift in my balance, every subtle strain in my muscles. But he’s learning to step back, learning to trust that I’m not a liability or someone fragile to wrap in bulletproof cotton.
The training winds down after a long hour, leaving us flushed and warm and slightly worn out. It feels good—satisfying—to be useful. To move. To remember that I’m not just a belly or an asset or a problem to be solved.
Ronan signs off with a salute, promising to come in person next week, which earns a collective groan from all of us.
As the video call ends, Mackenzie pulls off her training gloves and tosses them aside. “Declan, she’s fine. Stop acting like she’s carrying the Ark of the Covenant.”
He huffs. “It’s not funny.”
“It kind of is,” Nadia says.
I take a sip of water, watching the two women tease him. He tries to deflect, tries to glare, but none of it sticks. When we leave the training room, Declan stays close, but he gives me a little more space. He lets me walk on my own. It’s progress.
We’re halfway down the hallway when Mackenzie’s phone buzzes. She stops, frowning. “We have intel.”
Nadia immediately steps closer, all traces of humor gone.
“Another attempt?” Nadia asks.
Mackenzie nods slowly. “Footage came in. Russians are still trying to recreate Ailish’s movements.”
A chill slides down my back.
“Let me see,” I say.
She shows us the screen. Nadia stiffens instantly. “That’s… that’s Dara.”
“You’re sure?” Mack asks, voice low, careful.
“Not one hundred percent,” Nadia says. “But enough that I feel sick.”
Declan steps in front of me, lowering his head to meet my eyes. “Ailish.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper. “I just… I need to talk to Nadia. Alone.”
Nadia nods once, jaw clenched. We step aside while Mackenzie gives us space, though Declan hovers at the edge like he’s one second from pulling me back to him.
“Is it really her?” I murmur once we’re out of earshot.
“I think so,” Nadia says. “Her posture. Her build. And if they’re desperate enough to use unknown female operatives again…” Nadia closes her eyes briefly. “She wouldn’t do this willingly. Not Dara.”
“But they don’t care about willing.”
A long moment passes before I pull myself back together.
Liam approaches us then, his expression serious. “We need someone from our side on a recon run this afternoon. Routine surveillance with the Italians. They want to show they’re rebuilding trust.”
Declan stiffens like steel at my back.
“And they want you, Ailish.”
My pulse jumps.
“I’m in,” I say.
The words come out steadier than I feel. Declan steps forward immediately. “The hell you are.”
But I stand my ground. I have to.
Declan’s voice hits the walls like thunder, sharp and immediate. Now, though, with the footage of Dara still flickering behind my eyes, it sinks into me differently—how much he feels everything at once.
“Ailish, no. Absolutely not. You’re not going on any recon run.” He steps closer, towering, shoulders squared like he’s preparing to physically block the hallway if he has to.
Liam doesn’t back down. “She’s cleared for it. Medically, strategically, and by our allies.”
Declan looks at her like she’s the airlock to a vacuum. “She’s pregnant and under protection.”
I let out a breath through my nose. “You’re the one who told me I wasn’t helpless.”
“That was before they started dragging out ghosts from Nadia’s past.” He gestures at Mackenzie’s phone. “And before they put a tail resembling you on every damn street corner.”
“Which is why I need to be on this run,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “They need to see that the Italians trust me again. That the Irish trust me again. We need them fully unified for what’s coming.”
“You don’t owe the Italians anything,” he snaps.
“I owe myself something. I need to be useful.”
“You are useful,” he fires back instantly, voice rough. “You’re the reason half the new infrastructure is even functional—”
“I can’t run a war only from a keyboard, Declan.”
Silence stretches for a long beat.
Nadia crosses her arms, watching him with an unreadable expression. Mackenzie waits with one eyebrow raised, clearly giving us the space to burn through this argument before it turns nuclear.
Declan exhales harshly and rakes a hand through his hair. “This is a terrible idea.”
“Maybe,” I say softly. “But it’s still mine to make.”
His jaw flexes, a visible grind of restraint, and something in his eyes flickers—fear, frustration, devotion, something tangled enough to be all three.
Before he can say another word, Mackenzie steps forward.
“Liam already signed off. Ailish goes with me to meet the team lead. Italians are sending Pietro and four grunts. All routine. If he didn’t think it was safe, he wouldn’t allow me with her.”
“Nothing is routine with the Russians after that footage,” Declan growls. “Tell them to pick someone else.”
Mackenzie folds her arms. “Declan. Do you want to undermine her in front of two syndicates? Because that’s what it sounds like.”
He goes still.
Pain flashes through his face, quick but gutting, because he knows she’s right. I can see it hit him—the realization that protecting me too much could destroy me more thoroughly than any threat outside these walls.
When he finally speaks again, his voice is quieter. Rougher.
“I’m going with you.”
“No.” Liam is firm. “You can’t. You’re with me today. Strategy review.”
Declan looks like he might actually put a fist through drywall.