Page 95 of The Endless Want

When I speak again, my voice is steadier. “I want to be part of the offensive team. If we don’t shut down the Russian pipeline at the root, none of this ends. Not for the Irish. Not for her.”

Finn hums in consideration. “Talk to Liam. He’ll listen.”

“Will he?”

“He wants his house in order more than anything. And he wants you back where you belong.”

I nod slowly, feeling something loosen—slightly—in my chest. “Thanks for the call, Finn.”

“Don’t thank me,” he says, lighter now. “Just do the damn work.”

When the call ends, I sit still for several seconds, staring at the dark screen. That conversation shifted something tectonic inside me—something old and wounded that had been calcifying for months.

Forgiveness shouldn’t feel unfamiliar, but it does.

I grab my jacket and head straight for Liam’s office.

The compound feels different tonight. I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s the extra guards stationed at every corner, or the heavy air that comes when war is close enough to smell. Or maybe it’s because I know something now that I didn’t before:

Liam’s office door is cracked open, light spilling into the hallway in a soft gold wash. He’s at his desk, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed over paperwork that looks half financial, half tactical.

He glances up when I knock lightly on the frame. “Declan.”

“Got a minute?”

He gestures me inside. “Take a seat.”

I don’t. Instead, I stand across from his desk and rest my hands on the back of the empty chair between us. “I want to be assigned to the offensive operations. The ones targeting the Russian pipeline directly.”

Liam leans back, studying me with an expression I’ve seen only a handful of times—when decisions matter enough to fracture groups in half. “Why the sudden shift? You’ve been working your own angles.”

“Not enough,” I say. “My loyalists aren’t enough. The pipeline’s changing routes faster than we can track. Every week we let this drag on, the Russians get bolder. They bombed our hub, Liam. They nearly got Ailish killed twice.”

His jaw tightens. “I know.”

“I’m not asking for permission to be reckless,” I continue. “I’m asking for responsibility. Real responsibility.”

Another silence stretches, long enough for my heartbeat to turn heavy in my ears. Finally, Liam speaks. “If I put you on the offensive team, it comes with a condition.”

I straighten. “Name it.”

“You and Ailish work together,” he says flatly.

The words hit me like a blow to the sternum.

Liam continues before I can respond. “You coordinate on logistics for the raids. You plan the movements together. She handles the strategic funnel and risk assessment. You handle execution. You operate as allies—not rivals.”

It’s a trap. Not a malicious one. Just a deliberate one.

A way to see if we break or bend. I force my voice steady. “You think pairing us is wise given… everything?”

“I think neither of you will survive this war if you keep circling each other like wounded animals,” he says. “And I think Ailish trusts you more than she should, even now.”

A cold ache settles low in my gut. “She shouldn’t.”

“But she does.” Liam folds his hands on the desk. “So let’s give her a reason she was right to.”

His eyes soften just slightly—barely enough to recognize the man beneath the leader. “You’re going to be a father, Declan.”