He shakes Jordan's hand, his grip firm. "Stay alive, Mrs. Fitzwallace. The world needs more people like you."
As the helicopter lifts off, Jordan watches the resort disappear below us—now swarming with investigators, emergency vehicles still parked in clusters. The pristine snow is trampled and muddy, the luxury tarnished by violence and death.
"Another aborted holiday together," she says wryly. "Think it'll make for another good story someday?"
"Only if we survive long enough to tell it." I pull her close, careful of her bruises. The thought of a future beyond the next threat feels both terrifying and necessary. "Ready to go home?"
"More than ready. I miss Baker Street. Miss London. Miss our own bed."
Home. The word settles something in my chest. We have that now—not just places, but the idea of belonging somewhere together.
"Survived." She leans into me. "I'm getting tired of that being our measure of success."
"Me too, love. Me too."
I turn serious, needing to check in with her. Years of marriage have taught me that assumptions are dangerous. "Jordan, we've built something together over the years. Orpheus and Cerberus, working in concert. Your mission, my methods. But this threat changes things. It means more security, more protocols, more integration. I need to know you're still good with that."
She considers this, her jaw working as she thinks. Control has always been important to her—maintaining autonomy, making her own choices. We've navigated it for years, but Switzerland just escalated everything.
Jordan thinks for a moment longer and says. "Much as I hate to admit it, we need to tighten security. I won't pretend Switzerland didn't change things."
The flight stretches long, the landscape below shifting from Alpine peaks to French countryside to the English Channel. Jordan dozes against my shoulder, exhausted despite two days of rest. The bruises on her face have faded from purple to yellow-green, but they're still visible. Still a reminder of how close I came to losing her.
I watch her sleep, this woman who refuses to be anything less than extraordinary. Who throws herself into danger to save strangers. Who's been my wife, my partner, my equal for years now.
We've built a good life together. Not easy—we're both too stubborn, too used to running our own operations. But we've made it work through compromise and trust and the occasional spectacular argument.
Until someone decided Jordan needed to die.
I pull up the intelligence brief Sawyer sent last night. The terrorist cell has been identified—extremists with ties to several trafficking networks Jordan disrupted. The mastermind is still unknown, but the connection is clear. Jordan's work with Orpheus made her a target.
Which means the threat won't stop. Not as long as she continues rescuing women.
And she will continue. That's who she is.
So my job is to make sure she can do what she does best while staying alive. Adeyemi's offer is part of that. So is the upgraded security and the team we've built. Everything designed to protect Jordan while she saves the world.
Because that's what she does. Saves people. And I'll be damned if I let anyone stop her.
We land in London late afternoon, the city gray and drizzling in typical December fashion. The weather feels right—familiar, comfortable after Switzerland's pristine snow.
Adam meets us at the helipad with security—two of Sawyer's team plus Harry and Nigel from Baker Street. The sight of them, solid and dependable, eases something in my chest. Our people. Our team.
"Welcome home," Adam says, crushing Jordan in a careful hug. "You scared the hell out of us."
"Sorry about that." She returns the hug, wincing slightly. "How's the club?"
"Thriving. Christmas events were packed. Chelsea and Lily are fielding multiple inquiries about membership." He grins. "Apparently word got out about your heroics in Switzerland.People want to belong to the club owned by the woman who took on terrorists and won."
"I didn't take them on alone," Jordan protests.
"No, but you made yourself the target to save someone else. Again." Harry joins us. "You're collecting quite a reputation, JJ. The question is whether it's sustainable."
"Not if we have anything to say about it," I interject. "Which is why security protocols are being upgraded, both at Baker Street and for Jordan personally."
"Finally," Nigel mutters. "Olivia and I have been saying for years she needs proper protection."
Jordan rolls her eyes. "I'm standing right here."
