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Sasha walks out of Rome as it crumbles and burns behind her. Everyone she knew is dead, or rather, they won’t be born for another two thousand years. She is alone here.
Zolf once told her, “People don’t usually get a chance to say goodbye.” At least she’d said goodbye to him.
“If you’re choosing to go, then…you should have the choice. That should be allowed.”
“It’s been good working with you. And I appreciate the time we’ve spent together.”
“Cheers Boss”
“Not anymore. See you later.”
“That was a sentimental point I was trying to...bye!”
It was awkward, but heartfelt. Neither of them knew for certain that it would be their final meeting, but to tell the truth, she never expected to see him again. He slipped quietly from her life, like Brock, like so many others, and she was just grateful that this time she could say goodbye.
She moves forward, eyes trained on the path before her, and thinks of Azu standing by her side on that final day in Rome, facing down Eldarion with an unfamiliar rage in her voice.
“I don’t think she wants to talk to you. You need to back off!”
She thinks of a moment in a damp corridor in Damascus, clutching her adamantine dagger, and Azu, pleading with her.
“Please Sasha, I don’t want you to die. ”
She blocks out the sound of screams and crumbling stone and thinks of Hamid, filled with fury that Eldarion would imply she was anything but competent.
“When was the last time you saw Sasha? She’s changed a lot, she’s grown a lot, and you will not stand here and insult her like that!”
She remembers him standing beside her before a dragon just a week ago.
“Times when I’ve fallen or started to give up, she’s the one who’s been able to carry on .”
And she carries on, one foot in front of the other, a steady mindless routine, and she thinks of Grizzop. Her shoulder twinges in a phantom pain and she remembers feeling the spear piercing her flesh, flickering between life and death, and then standing solid on her feet again. Seeing Grizzop’s hand, outstretched toward her, blood pouring from his own shoulder.
“I got you.”
Retreating to his side, standing back to back. “Whatever happened there, thanks.” And then...his body, limp in her arms, so wrongly still. She touches the green blood that stains her clothes and remembers angry tear-filled red eyes.
“You are more important than a thing! I don’t care what the thing is made of, or if it’s magical, or divine, or the best thing in the world! You are more important than that THING! ...Your job is also to survive! You’re no good at your job if you’re dead!”
She thinks about all of them, as she reaches the edge of a collapsed Rome with Cicero. People don’t usually get a chance to say goodbye, but sometimes the words said in the time you’re together are enough. She knows she’ll never see any of them again, but their words will stay with her forever.
Sasha turns to Cicero. “Alright, mate. I’m not one for talking but...do you have any, do you have any friends? You know what’s useful in times like this? Friends. You got anywhere?”
“I might know a place.”
“Well, we’ll go there then.”
And Sasha lives.
Twenty years later, she stands at her window, looking out at the life she’s built. She’s the best in her trade, renowned and highly valued for her talents. She has a home, full of life and laughter. She has a family. She has friends. It’s been twenty years since Grizzop died. Twenty years. If he walked out of Rome with her, twenty years was all he could have hoped to live. It’s funny, she never planned on living this long. No Other London thief expected their hair to grey with age. So long ago, standing in a vault full of treasure, she told Grizzop that she’d never really had the chance to plan.
“Well, you should. ”
Sasha looks out her window, watching Cicero, watching the children that she protects, providing them with the childhood she and Brock should have lived. She has plans now. She thinks Grizzop would be proud.