Linus, after receiving the millions of dollars that Danny promised – through illicit transactions into multiple bank accounts, a highly technical maneuver orchestrated by Livingston Dell – assumed that would be the end of it.

Each would go on in their separate ways, because it’d be way too dangerous to even breathe the name of one of the other ten guys involved in the Benedict heist.

But despite the millions upon which he comfortably sat, Linus felt an itch in his bones he couldn’t control. For him, it had never been about the money. Not really. That’s not why Linus followed Danny Ocean to Las Vegas. That’s not why Linus risked life and limb for a group of men he hardly knew.

Growing up in the family that Linus had, it was always about the job. The teamwork. The infamy. And now there was no team, no job. Barely a name to trade on, either, because the networks across the world only whispered the name “Danny Ocean” in relation to the Benedict job.

Linus’ dad was proud of him, to be sure, but that would soon wear off when the story got old.

It had only been three weeks and Linus felt… empty.

Somehow the millions did not compensate for the loss of the guys he knew he’d never see again.

And then, as Linus was riding the L-train one night in Chicago, a strong hand clapped his shoulder. Linus froze in his seat, caught unaware, and wasn’t sure what to do.

“What’s with the long face, kid?” murmured Rusty, voice smoky and soft in Linus’ ear, as he slid into the seat next to Linus.

Linus didn’t know what to say. Rusty smelled like French fries.

“How have you been?” asked Rusty, leaning ever closer, closer – as if he were speaking of great secrets, instead of just saying hello. His lips ghosted the shell of Linus’ ear as he spoke, feather-soft.

Linus breathed out, unsteady. “Better, now,” he finally managed.

Rusty grinned, bright and blinding white.