“Full operational partnership,” Morrison says without hesitation. “Not tentative agreements or vague promises of future cooperation. Real integration. Joint planning. Shared intelligence. Access to all parties involved.”
“Including your necromancer friend and his supernatural network,” the woman clarifies. “We understand he’s been... reluctant to engage with government agencies.”
That’s putting it mildly. I have the distinct impression Silas would probably disappear permanently if he knew MI5 was demanding access to his operations.
“You’re asking me to convince people who’ve spent years hiding from intelligence services to suddenly trust you completely,” I point out.
“We’re asking you to decide whether you want this operation to succeed or fail,” Morrison counters. “Because amateur Resistance movements attempting to overthrow an incumbent power that has far more resources than they do, have a disturbing tendency to create disasters.”
“And disasters of this magnitude,” the grey-haired agent adds, “tend to result in massive casualties and international incidents that no one can contain. And in this unprecedented situation, it could lead to genocide. Ours.”
The threat is clear, even if diplomatically phrased. Work with us properly, or we’ll have to shut you down to prevent the destruction of the human race, because we don’t trust you not to fuck it up.
“Jack?”
I turn to find Dyfri standing in the bedroom doorway. His dark eyes take in the scene with sharp intelligence, reading the tension and positioning like a strategic map.He’s fully dressed despite having been deeply asleep moments ago. Full fey robes and immaculate hair. His magnificent horns are on full display, and he looks every inch a fey prince. I’m pretty sure it’s a calculated move.
“Agent Morrison,” he says with perfect courtly politeness. “How unexpected. I trust there isn’t an emergency.”
Morrison stands, his posture respectful but firm. “Prince Dyfri. We were just discussing the next phase of our collaboration.”
“Were you indeed.” Dyfri moves into the room with fluid grace, settling onto the arm of my chair in a gesture that’s both casual and protective. “And what phase might that be?”
“The phase where theoretical cooperation becomes practical reality,” Morrison replies. “You and your husband have been very helpful in establishing initial contact, but we’ve reached the point where tentative agreements are no longer sufficient.”
Dyfri’s expression doesn’t change, but I feel the slight tension that runs through his body. “I see. And what level of... sufficiency were you hoping to achieve?”
“Full operational integration. Joint planning sessions with all parties involved. Complete coordination between your Resistance contacts and our resources.”
“Including direct contact with Mr Darkstar,” the woman adds. “We understand he commands considerable supernatural resources that could prove invaluable to the mission’s success.”
Something flickers in Dyfri’s eyes. Calculation, maybe, or recognition of a chess move he’d been expecting. “Silas has very compelling reasons for maintaining hisprivacy. Your organisation’s history with supernatural communities has not been... collaborative.”
“Past policies don’t necessarily dictate future relationships,” Morrison says. “Current circumstances require new approaches.”
“You’re asking us to convince our allies to trust the same government agency that’s been treating them as threats to be monitored, sometimes outright hunted, rather than citizens to be protected,” Dyfri observes mildly.
“I’m asking you to consider whether the mission’s success is worth overcoming historical grievances,” Morrison replies. “Because right now, your operation has maybe a thirty percent chance of succeeding without professional support. Those aren’t odds anyone should be comfortable with.”
Dyfri tilts his head slightly, studying Morrison with the sort of attention a predator gives potential prey. “And with your involvement?”
“Significantly better. We have the resources you need. Access to comprehensive intelligence. Technical expertise and tools. Weapons. The manpower of highly skilled agents. Most importantly, contingency planning for when things go wrong.”
“When, not if?”
Morrison’s smile is grim. “Prince Dyfri, you’re talking about sabotaging the enemy’s own tools. Something that ambitious doesn’t go exactly according to plan. Ever.”
For a long moment, the room is silent except for the soft hum of the heating system. I can practically see Dyfri weighing impossible options, calculating risks and benefits in ways I can’t even imagine.
“You realise,” he says finally, “that what you’re asking could destroy the very network you want to access. These people have survived by avoiding exactly this kind of exposure.”
“Then we protect them,” Morrison says firmly. “Full cooperation means full protection. Whatever resources are needed to ensure their safety.”
Dyfri’s laugh is soft and skeptical. “You’re offering to protect a necromancer who commands supernatural legions, a dragon rider whose people haven’t trusted human governments in centuries, and a fey defector who’s wanted by his own people for treason. That’s quite an ambitious protection program.”
“We’ve handled difficult cases before,” the grey-haired agent says with more confidence than seems warranted.
“Have you handled cases involving interdimensional fugitives and beings who can raise the dead?” Dyfri asks politely.
