The Wraith. Had been in Eliot's fucking house.

Hardison had needed a hand, Harry had needed experience working internationally, and he had thought leaving the girls alone for a week would be safe. And they were. Safe.

He just needed to remind himself of that.

Sophie had stayed cool as ever, Breanna had by all accounts stepped up admirably, and the gaudy Halloween decorations laying around had ended up an important part of the con. Parker even got to use her TASER.

None of that mattered when Eliot took his third perimeter check for the night. The best security on the planet meant shit when you purposefully let down your walls to let two-bit conmen in. Who was he to stop someone from playing Home Alone for a night?

Attic dormers clear.

It had been a solid plan, too. Let the assholes fuck around, let them find out the consequences. Let Sophie lure them into one of Parker's magnificent Rube Goldberg machines, and give Breanna enough space to add something new. All of their quick thinking had led to the arrest of the hitter world's most infamous phantoms. Nobody was even hurt night of.

Mezzanine clear.

Breanna had showed him the selfie she'd taken with Sophie slumped and bloody in the background. It wouldn't fool a trained eye. The only reason it had worked in the first place had been the Wraith's distraction. Pulling up past jobs like that, playing into that Catholic guilt, the push and pull between misty fantasy and gory reality, those were hallmarks of a perfect grift.

Bedrooms clear.

The plan wouldn't have worked if Sophie weren't a master of her craft. Spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, indeed. That woman can suppress her breathing, hold her eyes open, avoid fidgeting, for far longer than even some people Eliot had worked with eons ago.

Stage clear.

Parker, too. She can hold her own in a fight far better than she could back when the team first operated. Her TASER was a finishing move, a last resort, instead of her first and only strategy. Her coordination and quick thinking kept everyone, even the civilian, safe.

Courtyard clear.

Halloween had been a show of power, a demonstration of how much progress the team actually needed to make to defend themselves. As Eliot neared his expiration date it was a welcome reminder that they wouldn't need him for much longer. Hell, depending on how long Hardison planned on staying gone, he could even train up a mini-me of his own. Retire. Go back to chopping lettuce.

Eliot checked his watch. It was probably safe to catch a nap before his brain woke him up demanding another patrol.

When the girls recounted their success story, Harry had cheered. A man with that much blood on his hands, he's getting at least more than life, he'd said. And men like this one, we know deserve it.

The Wraith was practically a boogeyman, never caught before and with enough experience to scare even seasoned hitters.

His hands were still cleaner than Eliot's.