The room was dim, the fire low in the hearth. Rain tapped softly against the windows, a lullaby that couldn’t quiet the storm between your ribs. Sam stood near the door, cloak already on, damp from the night’s air. You didn’t want him to go—not tonight.

“I don’t like this,” you said quietly, arms folded, voice taut with everything you couldn’t say.

He turned, eyes catching yours. That same golden-brown warmth, laced now with something softer. Sadder. “You never like it when I leave.”

Sam hesitated. “This is the last job, Celaena. After this, we’re gone. You and me. Somewhere far from all this.”

You looked away, heart clenching. You had heard those words before. But this time, you almost believed them. Almost.

“I had a dream,” you said, voice shaking. “You and I… we had a small house by the sea. You made terrible tea. I hated it and drank every drop.”

He laughed, and it broke something in you.

“Marry me,” he said suddenly.

Your eyes snapped to his.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “When this is over—marry me. We don’t need gold. We don’t need anything but each other.”

You stared at him, stunned. “That’s not how this ends. You and me? We don’t get happy endings.”

His hand found yours—warm, calloused, trembling just slightly. “Then let’s steal one.”

You didn’t answer. You just kissed him.

It was different this time—not rushed, not desperate. Slow. Fierce. A memorization of lips and breath and heartbeat. He pulled you close, his hands framing your face like you were something sacred. And in that moment, it felt like the world stilled.

You rested your forehead against his, trying to memorize the sound of his breathing. “Come back to me,” you whispered. “Promise.”

“I always come back to you.”

But you didn’t know that would be the last time.

His eyes flickered with quiet sorrow, but he only chuckled, pulled you close, and lifted you by the thighs—like holding you could make the moment stay.