Alec used to just hack because he could, to prove to himself that he was better than his father. The one time Nana caught him, she lightly swatted his behind and said, "Don't get caught again."
Parker stole a bunny once. Her foster father of the week smacked her across the face and snarled, "Be a better thief, little bitch."
Parker took the bunny with her when she left. Her foster parents were both tucked up neatly in their bed, throats slit, when the house exploded.
Eliot breaks faces. And femurs. He uses guns and knives interchangeably, and he answers to no man. He's killed in thirty-eight countries, his bodycount is in triple digits, and no one even knows his name.
Damien Moreau thought he hired a bodyguard. Eliot grew bored after a month. There wasn't much left when he finally moved on.
Alec is a world-renowned hacker. Parker is considered one of the best thieves. And Eliot? He's the nightmare young hitters get warned about, the one few ever believe.
The thing is, Nate knew all that. So did Sophie.
But knowing and believing? Completely different things.
A hacker, a hitter, and a thief.
They knew of each other, of course. The best and the brightest. Most dangerous.
"How long?" Parker asks, cuddled up against Alec while Eliot held them both.
Eliot shrugs. "I ain't bored yet," he says.
Alec kisses his chin, then Parker's cheek, and mutters, "Take us with you when you go."
Eliot thinks about that for a long time. All the way until Sophie's ambition threatens the two he's claimed as his own.
When Sophie's down, and Eliot's bodycount enters quadruple digits, he smiles at Alec and Parker. "C'mon," he says.
A hacker, a hitter, and a thief. Answer to no one but each other.
Legends. Nobody actually believes in legends.
More fool they.