CHAPTER 192
LUCAS'S POV
The conversation with our children happened at breakfast the next morning, delivered with the same matter-of-fact tone we'd always used when explaining why Mama and the uncles occasionally had to travel for work. But this time felt different - heavier with implications that even our youngest could sense.
"How long will you be gone?" Addison asked, her twelve-year-old mind already calculating patterns and inconsistencies in our explanation.
"Possibly several weeks," Skylar said, buttering Elena's toast while maintaining the calm demeanor that had gotten us through every family crisis. "Aunt Rebecca will stay with you, just like when we went to the conference in Geneva."
"But this isn't a conference, is it?" Liam observed with seven-year-old directness. "You're all wearing your serious faces."
"It's work that requires all four of us," I said carefully. "Some situations need our complete attention."
"Dangerous work?" Elena asked, her four-year-old voice small with concern.
The question hung in the air like a challenge. We'd always been honest with our children about the general nature of our work, but we'd never had to explain that we might not come back.
"All important work has some risks," Harry said finally. "But we're very good at staying safe and taking care of each other."
"Are you going to help children like you helped me when I was little?" Addison asked, though she'd never been directly rescued - she'd been born into our family's protection.
"We're going to help children who need help," Skylar confirmed.
"Good," Addison said with conviction that reminded me painfully of her mother at that age. "Someone should help them."
After breakfast, I found myself alone in my office with Addison, who'd lingered while her siblings went to play. She sat in the chair across from my desk with the composed posture she'd learned from watching Skylar in professional settings.
"Uncle Lucas," she said in the tone that meant she was about to ask something complicated, "is this the kind of work where people might try to hurt you?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because you're all acting like you're saying goodbye instead of just going on a business trip."
The perceptiveness shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. At twelve, Addison was already demonstrating the analytical skills that had made Skylar so effective.
"We never know exactly what we'll encounter when we help people," I said honestly. "Sometimes bad people don't want to be stopped."
"And sometimes you have to stop them anyway."
"Sometimes, yes."
"Even if it's dangerous."
"Even if it's dangerous."
She was quiet for a moment, processing information with the same focused intensity she brought to everything important.
"I want to come with you," she said finally.
"Absolutely not."
"Why? I'm strong, I'm smart, and I've been training with Uncle Harry for two years. I could help."
"Because you're twelve years old, and this isn't the kind of work children should be involved in."
"Mama was younger than me when she started fighting bad people."
"Mama didn't have a choice. You do."
"Do I? If there are children being hurt and I have the skills to help them, isn't staying home just choosing to be safe while they suffer?"
The logic was sound and absolutely terrifying coming from someone who should have been worried about homework and friends instead of rescue operations.
"Addison, there's a difference between being trained to protect yourself and being ready for what we do."
"What difference?"
I struggled to find words that would make sense to someone who'd been raised to see protection and violence as natural extensions of love.
"The difference is that what we do changes you. It makes you into someone who can do terrible things for good reasons. And once you become that person, you can never go back to being innocent."
"I don't want to be innocent if it means ignoring people who need help."
"That's exactly why you can't come with us. Because that attitude - the willingness to sacrifice everything for the mission - is what destroys people."
"It didn't destroy you. Or Uncle Harry or Uncle Jax."
"Didn't it? Addison, look at us. Really look at us. Do you see four people who've learned to live normal lives, or do you see four people who've learned to pretend to be normal while staying ready for war?"
The question seemed to genuinely surprise her, as if she'd never considered that our lifestyle might be a performance rather than our natural state.
"You seem happy," she said uncertainly.
"We are happy. But we're also damaged in ways that normal people aren't. We see threats where others see opportunities. We calculate escape routes in restaurants. We teach our children survival skills instead of just letting them be children."
"But those skills are useful. They keep us safe."
"They also isolate us from people who don't understand why a twelve-year-old needs to know seventeen ways to disable an attacker."
Through the window, I could see Skylar in the garden with Elena, ostensibly picking vegetables but actually teaching our four-year-old to identify which plants could be used for basic medical treatment. Normal family time with tactical applications.
"Is that why I don't have friends my age?" Addison asked quietly. "Because other kids think I'm weird?"
"You're not weird. You're different. But difference can be lonely."
"So you want me to be normal instead of useful?"
"I want you to have choices. I want you to be able to decide whether to dedicate your life to helping people without that decision being made for you by circumstances."
"What if I choose to help people anyway?"
"Then that's your choice to make when you're old enough to understand all the implications."
"How old is old enough?"
I thought about Skylar, who'd been making life-or-death decisions since elementary school, and realized that readiness had less to do with age than with necessity.
"Old enough to live with the consequences of violence. Old enough to kill someone and still be able to sleep at night. Old enough to sacrifice your own happiness for strangers and not resent them for it."
"That sounds like what you and the others do already."
"It is. And that's exactly why we want something different for you."
"What if I don't want something different?"
Before I could answer, Jax appeared in the doorway with our travel bags, his expression grim.
"Transport's here," he said. "Time to go."
As I stood to leave, Addison caught my hand with the urgency of someone who understood this might be the last conversation we'd ever have.
"Uncle Lucas, promise me something."
"What?"
"Promise me that if you don't come back, you'll make sure someone tells me exactly what happened. No sanitized version, no protecting me from the truth. I want to know."
"Why?"
"Because if I'm going to carry on your work someday, I need to understand what it really costs."
Looking into her serious twelve-year-old face, I realized that we'd already failed in our mission to give her a normal life.
She was already becoming what we'd sworn she'd never have to be.
The only question was whether we'd live long enough to guide that transformation or whether she'd have to figure it out alone.
"I promise," I said, and meant it.
But as I kissed her goodbye and walked toward whatever final mission awaited us, I wondered if that promise would turn out to be the cruelest thing I'd ever done to someone I loved.
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