It was always going to end this way.
He'd warned her on numerous occasions. There were bitter fights over her "chosen profession". Blackmail was a perilous endeavor and there were always unforeseen complications.
It was always going to end this way.
He tried time and time again to get her to see reason. To have her run the odds. Sooner or later, she'd anger the wrong person. She'd get a bit too cocky and tip her hand at the exact wrong time. Statistically, it was inevitable.
It was always going to end this way.
He did what he could to mitigate her risk. He intercepted couriers. He disarmed assassins sent after her. He saved her life a dozen times in the past five years and she wasn't even aware of it. Whenever he cautioned her to be more prudent, she would just pat him on his shoulder and assure him that everything was going to be all right.
But she was wrong.
There was no happily ever after for someone who craved risk the way that she did. For someone who wanted to pit themselves against the best and always come up on top. For someone who addicted to winning the game.
He bit back a grin, remembering how they used to thrill over every victory. They were so alike in that. It was their favorite drug. It's what drew them together.
It's what tore them apart.
It was always going to end this way, he told himself again and again as he cradled her corpse, clutching her close to him, her body already cold.