Chapter Text
Central Park was still humming behind them as the carousel lights spun like captured stars, the mechanical music fading into the city’s larger heartbeat. When the Horsemen stepped off the platform, there was a moment where all four of them looked at one another.
And then they just started laughing.
Dylan slid his hands into his pockets, wearing that half-smile that didn’t look like it belonged on an officer. “We can’t stay here,” he said, jerking his chin toward the street.
Danny raised a brow. “Is that an invitation or an order?”
“Both,” Dylan replied. “Let’s celebrate before the world catches up.”
Henley exchanged a glance with Jack. It was exhilarated, exhausted, a little dazed. They followed.
Dylan guided them across the lawn and out of the park toward a parking garage. They walked toward a dark SUV, the kind of car nobody would look at twice.
They piled in. Henley slid into the back first, settling against the window and letting the cool glass calm the heat still buzzing under her skin. Danny took the middle seat beside her, his thigh brushing hers. Jack dropped into the far seat on Danny’s other side, practically vibrating with leftover adrenaline. Merritt whistled low as he climbed into the passenger seat. Dylan took the wheel.
The SUV rumbled awake and out they went. The city began peeling past the windows in ribbons of neon.
Jack leaned forward. “So this is what? A secret magician after-party?”
Merritt snorted. Henley laughed softly, watching the reflections slide over Danny’s profile. He looked positively alive. Eyes sharp, the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth, every inch of him tuned toward what came next.
He glanced sideways at her.
The SUV bounced gently over a pothole. Henley’s hand slipped instinctively toward the center seat, the space between them barely wide enough for breath. Danny’s fingers brushed hers, then curled around them.
The hint of a smile graced her lips.
His thumb swept over the back of her hand. Jack was chattering, Merritt was teasing Jack, the streetlights were painting silver bars across the seats, and still, somehow, this tiny touch felt louder than all of it.
Henley kept her gaze on the window, pretending to watch the skyline, even as her awareness narrowed to the warmth of his palm against hers.
“So,” Merritt said, twisting in his seat to look at the others in the back, “we’re really doing this? Off-grid, off-books, whole-new-career-path kinda thing?”
“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing for the past year?” Danny replied.
Jack slapped the back of Danny’s seat. “Yeah, but this is different. Now we’re outlaw magicians!”
The kid’s excitement broke the tension in all the right ways, dragging laughter out of Merritt and even a faint sound from Dylan that might have been approval.
But Henley didn’t stop holding Danny’s hand. Danny didn’t let go either.
And as the SUV rolled deeper into the warm, dim streets of Brooklyn, the noise of the others faded into a pleasant blur. Henley let her head rest lightly against the window, Danny’s shoulder pressing along hers, their fingers entwined out of sight.
Dylan led them to a brick townhouse wedged between a laundromat and a shuttered bakery.
He unlocked the door with a key he shouldn’t have had.
Inside, the small apartment was unexpectedly cozy.
Warm wooden floors, golden lamps, mismatched chairs. A record player in the corner.
A bottle of whiskey already waiting on the kitchen counter.
“Whoa,” Jack breathed. “You were this confident we were gonna pull this off? Kind of cocky, don’t you think?”
“Don’t poke the bear,” Merritt warned with a smirk. “Or he may take the whiskey away?”
Dylan ignored them. “Make yourselves at home.”
Merritt made a beeline for the record player, flipping through sleeves until he found something jazzy, warm, and old. The needle hissed as it settled, filling the room with soft brass and lazy percussion.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “I declare this the official beginning of our questionable life choices.”
Jack whooped and opened the whiskey. Danny accepted a glass with a satisfied nod, clinking it against Jack’s.
Henley leaned against the counter, swirling her drink.
The warmth spread through her chest, loosening her shoulders, and she felt unabashed joy.
Danny drifted toward her eventually with that quiet, gravitational inevitability she’d come to expect from him. It was the same way he always ended up beside her during rehearsals, during planning sessions, during those late-night card-practice marathons in the dingy warehouse the Eye had chosen as their first training ground, and the even dingier basements for training when she was his assistant. As if something in him just… aligned when he stood close to her.
He stopped right at her side now, close enough that she felt the warmth radiating off him despite the cool draft slipping under the safe house windows. His voice, usually sharp-edged even when relaxed, softened with the exhaustion and thrill of everything they’d just pulled off.
“Crazy night.”
Henley let out a breathy laugh. “You think?”
His eyes had that electric sheen he got after a show, leftover adrenaline mixing with pride, relief, and the faint tremor of disbelief. “We were amazing, weren’t we?”
Henley lifted her glass and tapped it gently against his in a toast. “We were.”
She held his gaze a second longer than she meant to. Or maybe exactly as long as she meant to. A second that stretched, hummed, and settled warmly in her ribcage.
Behind them, Jack yanked Merritt by the wrist into an enthusiastic, utterly chaotic dance once Dylan changed the track. It didn’t resemble any recognizable style of movement. It was mostly Merritt flailing while Jack tried to perform something vaguely swing-like.
“Jesus, you’re gonna throw my back out,” Merritt laughed.
“You’re old! That’s not my fault!” Jack fired back.
“You’re lucky I like you, kid.”
“You like me because I’m the only one who doesn’t make fun of your hat.”
Dylan watched from the armchair as he took a seat, swirling the drink in his hand with an expression of pride and the melancholy of someone who’d given up too much to get here. When Merritt dipped Jack, Dylan actually snorted.
“I swear,” Merritt said, straightening them both, “I haven’t danced this badly since that night in Kansas City when—”
“Oh God,” Jack groaned. “Not the ‘balloon animal convention’ story.”
“What? That was a good story.” Merritt said.
“I don’t know that story,” Dylan said.
“He was too drunk to make a balloon dog,” Jack said.
“That’s because balloon dogs are beneath me, Jack. I was making balloon philosophical concepts.”
Danny smirked beside Henley and lifted his drink. “He tried to make a balloon despair.”
“He did,” Henley said, laughing. “And it popped immediately.”
“It was in such despair that it popped,” Merritt protested. “So it worked!”
“Just stick to mentalism,” Danny said.
Henley leaned back against the wall, letting the music, the chatter, and the warmth of the room soak into her. It was surreal. Just the five of them in this quiet, mismatched little safe house, sharing cheap whiskey and bad dancing after changing the world in the most spectacular way.
Jack spun away from Merritt to grab another drink, panting from exertion. “Hey, hey — remember the time Henley almost set Danny’s shirt on fire during rehearsal?”
“That was your fault,” Henley shot back. “You told me the accelerant bottle was water.”
“I thought the blue cap meant water!” Jack said.
Danny gave Henley a sideways look. “You nearly took me out before the plan even began.”
She shrugged innocently. “I was testing your reflexes.”
“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?”
He stood closer now, but not so close that anyone would comment. Just close enough that their sleeves brushed, enough that her elbow touched his when she shifted, enough that if either of them leaned a single inch, they’d be sharing the same breath.
Danny met her eyes again in the middle of all that noise.
And there it was. That private thread tugging between them again.
The music, the dancing, the laughter… all of it blurred a little at the edges.
Merritt grabbed Henley’s hand out of nowhere, pulling her off balance with the gleeful recklessness of a man who’d had just enough whiskey to become a menace.
“Come on,” he declared, already spinning her in a half-circle. “Show these boys what real rhythm looks like.”
“Jesus, Merritt!” Henley yelped, laughing so hard her voice cracked. Her drink sloshed dangerously close to the rim as he dragged her into the open space between the couch and the kitchen doorway. “Warn me before you abduct me!”
“If I warn you, it’s not spontaneity,” Merritt said, wagging a finger. “And I’m nothing if not spontaneous.”
“That’s one word for you,” Danny muttered from the couch, where he took a seat.
Henley shot him a grin over her shoulder before Merritt gave her a twirl so dramatic she almost tripped. She steadied herself with a whooping laugh. Merritt attempted a spin of his own, arms flailing like a car dealership inflatable tube man with aspirations of Broadway.
Jack clapped wildly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Oh my God—Merritt, what is that? Interpretive suffering?”
“I’ll have you know,” Merritt puffed, sticking out his chest, “this is jazz fusion contemporary pop.”
“That’s not a thing,” Jack said.
“It is now, because I just did it.”
Henley laughed as Merritt continued his absurd moves.
Dylan, from his armchair, raised his glass in an indulgent half-toast without getting up. “This is why the FBI won’t let me take vacation time.”
“Because of the dancing?” Jack asked.
“Because of the dancing,” Dylan confirmed, his expression deadpan but warm.
Even Danny, perched on the edge of the sofa with his drink balanced on his knee, gave in and cracked a smile. And for Danny, that was… monumental. If it had been recorded, it could’ve been used as evidence in court.
“Your turn!” Jack crowed to Danny. “Come on! Impress us with those smooth, magician-y dance moves!”
“Oh, yes,” Merritt said, hand over his heart. “Ladies and gentlemen, behold… the Atlas Elegance.”
Danny blinked at them. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is a thing. I made it a thing along with the other thing that I made a thing,” Merritt replied.
Henley’s laughter turned into something softer, more curious, as she watched Danny try very hard not to react. But the challenge pulled at him. It always did. He set his drink down.
“Fine,” he said. “Someone has to restore dignity to the concept of movement.”
“Oh, please,” Merritt muttered. “If you restore anything, it’s because you bullied it into compliance.”
But Henley barely registered the comeback. Danny swept forward. He reached for her hand and took it gently, like he’d rehearsed it privately a thousand times.
He guided her through a slow sway, close but not touching any more than necessary, though “necessary” was an easily stretched word between them. Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder. His palm settled at the small of her back.
Behind them, Merritt and Jack devolved into some combination of waltzing and stumbling that neither the laws of physics nor rhythm could explain. Jack, red-faced from laughter, tried to dip Merritt and nearly threw out his own shoulder.
Dylan didn’t even look up anymore. He just sighed and took another sip.
But none of them noticed Danny leaning in just slightly. None of them saw the way Henley’s fingers curled tighter around his. Or the way their breaths mingled, warm and tentative, just shy of a kiss.
Henley’s lips parted a fraction.
Danny’s gaze lowered not quite to her mouth, but close enough that her heart stuttered.
If Merritt hadn’t loudly declared, “I think the room is moving but let’s pretend it’s me,” they might have closed that inch between them.
Henley startled back with a breathless laugh. Danny swallowed hard and stepped away, clearing his throat with what he hoped passed for composure.
“I swear,” Dylan muttered, “this team ages me ten years every hour.”
Merritt flopped onto the couch next to him. “You're welcome.”
Henley laughed quietly, the sound floating between her and Danny like a shared secret.
And he didn’t look away. He didn’t make a joke. He didn’t break the moment. He just kept her close, moving with her softly, subtly, like the dancing wasn’t the point at all.
The music transitioned into something dancier and Merritt jumped off the couch and pulled Henley again.
Danny was happy to be away from Henley, or his walls might crumble in front of everyone.
Merritt was sloppily throwing her in every direction until finally he dipped her so dramatically she nearly toppled over.
“Merritt!” she squealed, clutching his shoulders. “You’ll break my neck!”
“Sweetheart,” he drawled, “I’m too smooth to break your neck.”
“That’s… oddly sweet?” Jack commented from the sidelines.
“That’s alcohol,” Dylan said dryly.
“Shh,” Merritt waved him off. “Let me have this moment.”
He spun Henley again, badly, and she laughed. Jack tried to copy their footwork, tripping over nothing. Merritt held a hand to his heart.
“Look at him!” he cried. “My protégé! My little card-throwing flamingo! Full of grace and potential. But mostly legs.”
Even Danny had to bite back a laugh.
And it was that tiny sound, that subtle, surprised, almost unwilling laugh that made Henley turn toward him. His eyes were softer now, the walls lowered by good whiskey and victory and the way the room glowed with warmth. A smile tugged at his mouth, the kind that, on Danny, counted as a declaration of joy.
The night eventually sagged into that half-silly, half-sleepy lull. They abandoned the dance floor and collapsed around the dining table with whatever snacks Jack scavenged from the cabinets.
Merritt held court first, retelling the story of the time he tried to hypnotize his high-school principal to convince the man he was allergic to algebra.
Jack admitted he once spent an entire month trying to perfect a behind-the-back card throw until he sprained something “vaguely medical,” and Merritt still refused to let him live it down.
They laughed, swapped stories, traded sarcasm. And then Dylan, after a long stretch of watching them with something unreadable, told them about his father. About how he grew up chasing a ghost of a man he admired. About the first time the Eye approached him, and how it felt like being handed a compass in a storm.
None of them spoke for a while after that. Even Danny had gone still, studying Dylan with respect.
By the time the next song bled in, the room had thinned into yawns and half-finished drinks.
“Guys,” Dylan called sharply, “there is only one bedroom in this place.”
Jack was already facedown on one of the couches, about ready to pass out.
Danny immediately answered, “Merritt can have the other couch. I’ll take the floor.”
“Thank you, Daniel,” Merritt said with a hand pressed to his chest. “Chivalry isn’t dead after all. Look at you. Gentleman of the year.”
Danny ignored him. Mostly.
Henley turned toward the hallway, hesitant. “One of you boys can take the bedroom.”
“No,” Danny said quickly, almost too quickly. “You have the bedroom. It’s more private. Besides, Merritt is going to be snoring far too loudly for your lady ears.”
She snorted. “Then Merritt should be isolated in the bedroom while us three get a proper night’s sleep.”
Danny chuckled.
Merritt leaned toward Dylan and whispered loudly, “He loves me. Deep down, that dick loves me.”
“Go to sleep,” Dylan said without inflection.
Henley moved around the living room, gathering blankets and pillows, making the couches look almost inviting. She tucked a throw under Jack’s cheek, adjusted Merritt’s blanket pile (which he immediately got tangled in), and straightened the cushions on the floor before pausing beside Danny.
“You’ll be comfortable?” she asked softly.
He nodded. “I’ll manage.”
Her hand brushed his forearm, then she disappeared into the small bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.
Dylan left soon after, grabbing his coat and muttering something about needing air or sanity or both, claiming he’d be back in the morning.
Merritt passed out halfway through untying his shoes.
Jack snored like a puppy face-first into cotton.
And Danny stayed awake.
He sat on the floor in the dim light, back against the couch, blanket pooled over his legs. The record had long since reached its end, the needle whispering in soft static. The safe house settled into that deep, late-night quiet where thoughts grew louder.
Danny couldn’t sleep. He’d tried. God, he’d tried. He’d stretched out on the floor with his borrowed pillow, stared at the ceiling, closed his eyes. But his body buzzed with leftover adrenaline, and his mind was already somewhere else entirely.
Henley.
The bedroom door she’d slipped behind earlier sat closed, silent, but Danny could feel her presence there, absurd as that was. As if the air still held the imprint of her perfume, or the warmth from her hand in his.
As if that almost-kiss had rewired something in him.
He replayed it over and over: the tilt of her face, the way she’d leaned in but didn’t move away, the soft breath between them when the world briefly narrowed to just her and her heartbeat.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, trying to steady the spinning inside him. This was dangerous. Stupid. Incredibly reckless.
It also felt inevitable.
He didn’t know how long he sat there before he heard the soft, gentle click of the bedroom door opening.
Danny’s head lifted instantly, his pulse punching up into his throat.
Her footsteps were quiet on the wooden floorboards, careful not to wake the others. He heard the subtle sound of her bare feet padding across the floor. Then the bathroom door eased shut.
He stood. He didn’t even think about it, his body simply followed the pull that had haunted him all night.
He moved silently, weaving between discarded blankets and empty glasses until he reached the hallway. He stopped just beside the bathroom door, close enough to hear her.
Water running softly. A glass being filled and set down. The soft, rhythmic sound of her brushing her teeth.
Danny closed his eyes.
Something so simple, so domestic, hit him unexpectedly hard.
The faucet turned off. He stepped back half a pace, breath catching. The door opened. Henley walked straight into him.
She let out a soft gasp, hand flying to his chest. “Danny—”
But whatever she’d been about to say dissolved when she looked up at him.
The glow from the city lights outside brushed against her hair, turning the loose strands a warm copper. She looked tired, soft around the edges, the collar of her borrowed sleep shirt dipping slightly over one shoulder. Her eyes though... Her eyes were awake. Bright. Searching his.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she whispered.
He shook his head slowly. She didn’t step back. He didn’t either. For a suspended second, they simply breathed the same breath.
Then Danny lifted his hands touching her face like he expected her to disappear. His palms cradled her jaw, fingers barely grazing behind her ears. Henley’s breath hitched, lips parting on instinct, eyes fluttering half-closed as she leaned into the warmth of him.
She lifted her hands to his wrists, holding them there as if anchoring herself.
He leaned in slowly, his forehead brushing hers, their noses sliding past each other as they shifted into place.
Then, finally, his lips met hers.
A soft press at first.
Her mouth fit against his perfectly. Her lower lip caught between his, his upper lip brushing lightly against hers. A slow, exploring movement. She kissed his bottom lip and he answered by catching her top lip again, the rhythm building in tiny, delicious increments.
Then her mouth parted just slightly, a question answered with breath rather than words.
Danny inhaled sharply.
Their lips met again, deeper this time, her opening to him with intoxicating softness. His tongue grazed hers in a slow, careful stroke that made her knees weaken. Her fingers slid from his wrists to his forearms, gripping them lightly, then more firmly as the kiss deepened again.
Her hands began to move over the fabric of his shirt, tracing the lines of his chest. Upward, over the steady rise and fall of his breaths, until her fingers rested on his shoulders, then moving past them, letting her arms hang over them.
Danny made a low sound in his throat, the kind he’d never let anyone else hear. One of his hands slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head, his fingers tangling gently in the soft strands. The other settled at the small of her back, and when he pulled her in, their pelvises brushed.
Both of them let out a strained, shared groan, swallowed between their mouths.
It was slow and warm and unhurried, but charged enough to leave them trembling.
They might have kissed again, deeper still, if not for—
“GGGHHHHNNNNNNNHHHH—”
Merritt’s sudden, spectacular snore ripped through the quiet like an alarm.
They froze. Pulled apart. Stared at each other in wide-eyed horror—
And then Henley burst into a silent laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth.
Danny pressed his forehead to her hair with quiet laughter.
She clung to him to stay upright, face buried in his chest to muffle the sound. He tightened his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, letting her scent fill him until the laughter softened into breathless, giddy warmth.
When she finally pulled back, she didn’t speak. She just slipped her hand into his and gave a small tug.
He followed without hesitation.
She led him toward the bedroom.