They’re going legit little by little. Handing off some of the supercriminal parts to their underbosses.
It suits Kiro. He loves fighting, loves playing the tough guy with his brothers, but he’s no fucking criminal.
“Were you out on the docks?”
“Not exactly.” He peels off his shirt. I gasp. His arm is covered in plastic and underneath, an intricate tattoo of a battle scene, covering a huge swath of his arm. “What did you do, Kiro?”
“Viktor and Aleksio and I got tattoos today. It’s a depiction of the prophecy.”
“Uh. That stupid prophecy. Why would you want that on your arm?” The prophecy is why Lazarus and his mentor tore them apart all those years ago.
“The tattoo shows our own version of the prophecy. Everyone thought ‘together the brothers rule’ meant us ruling the Black Lion clan,” he says. “But the old woman who gave the prophecy never saidwhatwe would rule. So we decided it meant we would rule our destinies. This is of us finding each other and ruling our own lives.”
“Oh my God. I love that.”
“I got the idea from you. The story is important, that’s what you always say. I said we needed to think of a different story.”
“The tattoos were your idea?”
Kiro grins. He’s been fascinated by tattoos since we got back. “Yes.” He shows the battle flag and the fanciful swirls and scrolls, all meaning something. They put a lot of thought into it. But there’s a part of his that’s different. My name is there. And there’s a wolf. I trace it through the plastic. I know he misses those wolves. He still mourns his dead friends.
“Wait.” I go and grab a small gift. “I want you to open this.”
“It’s not Christmas.”
“I want you to have it now,” I say, heart pounding.
He tears off the paper and lifts the lid of the little box. He goes still, holding it in his shaking hands. “It’s….” He swallows back the emotion.
It’s the keychain with the wolf figurine, the one that reminded him so much of Red. The one he got at the outdoor store. The one he threw into the grass on the hillside.
“You grabbed it,” he says.
“Yeah. I grabbed it. You can keep your keys on it. Keep it with you always.”
He pulls it out of the box and holds it in his palm, reverently. Like it’s precious. He touches its little scruff the way he used to when we first had it.
I look away, thinking to give him a private moment.
“No, you can look, Ann.” He looks up, my beautiful, clear-eyed Kiro. Unflinchingly honest. Utterly there. “I want this with me always.”
“That’s the great thing about a keychain.”
“I want you to be with me always,” he says.
“I want to be with you always,” I say.
“No, I mean…” He crawls under the tree and pulls out a small box I hadn’t noticed. “I want you to be with me always.”
My pulse hammers in my ears as I take it.
A small box. A jewelry box. I hold it to my heart and meet his amber gaze. And smile.
And he smiles. We don’t need words.