Finn nodded. “I can understand that.”
He stared through the gates at the estate. “All of this . . . it reminds me of that night with Dad, when Sebastian’s giants busted into the house.”
“Yeah.”
Finn looked at me. “He’d be so proud of you, Gin. He was always proud of you, but never more so than after what happened with Sebastian.”
“Do you really think so?”
He reached over and squeezed my hand. “I know so.”
I stared into the dark of the night, thinking about Fletcher and all the lessons he’d taught me. “Yeah,” I said. “I think you’re right.”
“Are you kidding?” Finn scoffed. “I’m always right.”
I laughed at his never-ending confidence.
“Now, the night is still fairly young. You want to go get a drink at Northern Aggression?”
“Sure,” I said. “I had plans to meet Owen there after . . . this.”
“Then allow me to be your chariot,” Finn said. “And chauffeur service.”
He threw the car into gear and zoomed away from the curb.
I took one last look through the gate toward the Vaughn estate, my gaze settling on the lights that burned in the library. Despite everything, Charlotte had survived—and so had I.
Because that’s what the Spider did.