The desert air hits me as soon as we step out of the airport terminal - dry and hot, different from Boston's humidity. Eliot is already striding toward the rental car counter, his jaw set in that determined expression he gets before a job. Hardison falls into step beside me, shoulder brushing mine.

"You think he's gonna cry?" he asks, voice low enough that Eliot won't hear over the airport sounds.

I shrug, adjusting the strap of my bag where it rests against my shoulder. "Maybe. People cry at weddings. And funerals. This is like... both?" I don't really understand family reunions. Archie never wanted me to meet his family. I never had one to introduce anyway.

Eliot turns sharply, already holding keys. "Green Camry, let's go." No 'hello sister after all these years' speech. Typical Eliot - all action, no words when emotions run high.

The drive to Sally's house feels longer than the five hours we spent on the plane. I slept through most of that flight, curled against Eliot's shoulder like I belonged there. Now I'm wide awake, alert to every tension in his back as he drives.

"Two blocks ahead," Hardison says from the backseat, navigating on his tablet. "Blue door with a potted cactus on the porch." His voice is uncharacteristically serious.

Eliot pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. None of us move for a long moment. This isn't a con. There's no script, no backup plan. Just Eliot and a sister who thinks he's dead.

I reach across the console and touch his arm, just above the elbow where the muscle flexes. "We can wait in the car," I offer, because sometimes people need privacy for things that matter.

Eliot turns to look at me, really look at me, and for a second I see past the hitter, past the chef, past the man who thinks he doesn't deserve anything good. I see the kid who lost his sister and never got over it.

"Nah," he says finally, his voice almost normal. "You're with me."