Luka nodded, a painful hope etched across his face. "Three goats. You named the smallest one Svjetlo because her coat was almost white."
"Light," Ana translated, her expression growing clearer. "It meant light."
The memories seemed to come in waves. Each taste, each smell, unlocked another piece of their shared past. She would remember something vivid and specific: their father's prayer beads clicking softly in the evening, the sound of the adhan calling them to prayer as children, the smell of their mother's bread. Each time, her eyes would light with recognition.
"It's strange," she said quietly. "I know these memories are real. I know I was Bosniak, not Serbian. I know we were Muslim, not Orthodox. But there's still this... echo. These false memories feel so real, even though I know they're not." She pressed her palms against her temples. "I have both versions in my head, fighting for space."
Watching them discover each other through these fragments made my chest ache. This wasn't just a reunion; it was healing happening before my eyes. The enormity of what Prometheus had done, not just separating siblings but erasing Ana's Bosniak Muslim heritage and replacing it with the identity of her oppressors, made my blood boil.Seeing them reclaim pieces of their shared past felt sacred, a privilege to witness.
I raised my glass. "To new beginnings."
"And to endings," Ana added softly. "Some things needed to end."
We clinked glasses, the simple ritual sealing something important between us. Three people from wildly different backgrounds, bound together by circumstance and choice.
"So," I asked after Amina cleared our plates, "what's the grand plan now? Speaking as your unofficial therapist and definitely not a member of your assassination organization."
"The first priority is a complete overhaul of asset recruitment and training," Luka replied. "No more children. No more breaking people down to rebuild them as weapons."
"A new approach could transform how the organization operates," I suggested, already imagining the possibilities.
"That's where you come in," Luka said, his eyes meeting mine. "If you're willing to take on that challenge."
"Working with assassins?" I smiled despite myself. "Well, I did fall in love with one, so I suppose I'm already compromised."
"What about me?" Ana asked quietly. "Where do I go from here?"
Luka took her hand gently. "Wherever you want. You're completely free now."
She nodded, thinking. "I need to sell everything—the house, the cars, all of it. I don't want anything he bought me." A determined look crossed her face. "I'll donate it all to the charity. Refocus our work on human trafficking victims in war zones."
"You can stay in the Acropolis while you heal," Luka offered. "A private suite, near us, but your own space."
"And after that?" she asked.
I smiled, an idea taking shape. "We were thinking of building a place, actually. Across the river, above the Acropolis. There's enough land for a main house and a separate cottage. Independence but not isolation."
"And a greenhouse," Luka added, glancing at me. "A big one."
Ana's eyes filled with tears, but she smiled. "I'd like that. To be close but... finding myself too."
"We'll figure it out together," Luka promised. "One day at a time."
After dinner, we walked through the East Quarter marketplace, where vendors sold everything from weapons to rare books to exotic foods. Ana found a stall selling handcrafted jewelry and spent time examining pieces that reminded her of her mother's necklace.
I wandered toward a small nursery tucked between a knife shop and a bookstore. The elderly proprietor watched me examine his plants. "Looking for something specific?".
"Actually, yes. Do you have any ferns? And maybe a cactus?"
By the time we reunited near the fountain at the center of the marketplace, I carried a carefully wrapped package containing two healthy plants: a young Boston Fern to replace Fern Michaels and a Moon Cactus that would have made the late Jeremy proud. My heart ached with an odd mix of joy and loss as I thought about my abandoned plant family. Luka appeared moments later, holding a similar package.
"Great minds," he said, nodding to my plants as he handed me his package.
Inside, I found a tiny potted succulent, perfectly suited for a desk or windowsill. "What's this one called?" Luka asked, turning the little plant to examine it from all angles, exactly as he'd once studied my head through his sniper scope.
"That's up to you," I replied. "But I was thinking maybe 'Ana' would be appropriate. Hardy, resilient, thrives under difficult conditions. Impossible to kill unless you really commit to it."
His eyes met mine, full of something I'd never seen there before—a lightness, a freedom. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my lips, mindful of our public setting but seemingly unconcerned with who might see the new director showing affection.
