Vivianne.
She's trying to climb out, the wedding dress a destroyed cloud around her, one sleeve torn completely off, the train black with dirt and grass stains. Her elaborate updo has collapsed, and her hair hangs in golden tendrils around her face. Mascara streaks her cheeks like war paint.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Our bodies collide with enough force to drive the air from my lungs. Her arms wrap around my neck, mine around her waist, lifting her clear off the ground. She's sobbing and laughing simultaneously, her face buried in my shoulder, and I'm probably crushing her, but I can't let go.
I won't let go.
I'm never letting her go again.
"You came for me." She gasps against my neck.
"Always." I breathe into her hair. "Always, ma chérie. Always."
Her legs wrap around my waist, the dress making it awkward, but neither of us cares. Her pulse hammers against mine, proof that she's real, she's here, she's safe.
"I didn't say it." She pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes fierce despite the tears. "When he asked if I'd take Prescott, I didn't say yes. I couldn't."
"I know." I cup her face, thumbs wiping at the mascara stains. "Jenny told us. You were magnificent."
"I was terrified."
"You were everything."
She kisses me then, desperate and deep, tasting of tears and freedom. I kiss her back, pouring every moment of fear, everysecond of separation, every promise I couldn't keep until now into the connection between us.
"Hate to interrupt." Jenny's voice cuts through, dry as bone. "But we need to move. This location won't stay secure for long."
Reluctantly, I set Vivianne down but keep my arm around her, unable to break contact completely. The Guardian team is forming a protective circle, weapons still drawn, eyes scanning the perimeter.
"Anthony?" Vivianne spots him climbing out of our van.
He looks up at her voice, and something passes between them—recognition, understanding, shared loss. He holds up the Swan, its ruby catching the afternoon sun streaming through the broken windows.
"Mademoiselle Faulks." Formal, but his voice shakes.
"You're Anthony. From the letters."
Merlin goes completely still. "You found them?"
"Hidden all over her room. She kept them, every one." Vivianne steps toward him, the dress dragging behind her. "She loved you. Even after everything, she loved you until the day she died."
The sound Merlin makes is barely human—seventy years of grief condensed into a single moment. His legs give out, and I lunge forward to catch him, lowering him gently to sit on the van's bumper.
"She kept them." He stares at the Swan, voice barely a whisper. "Brigitte kept them?"
"Every one." Vivianne kneels beside him despite the dress. "Hidden where my grandfather would never find them. You were her great love. Her only love."
Merlin's hands shake as he pulls out his jeweler's loupe, holding the Swan up to catch the light. "I haven't seen it since the night I gave it to her. 1943. We were so young, so stupid, thinking love could survive war."
"What is it?" CJ moves closer, and everyone gathers around. "Beyond a ruby, I mean."
"It's a map." Merlin's voice is stronger now, shifting into teacher mode even through his tears. "Or rather, it contains coordinates."
He angles the stone so we can see inside, where that impossible swan seems to float in crystallized blood. "The flaw in the ruby—nature's accident that created the swan—that was what made it perfect for the purpose. But it's the surface that holds the secret."
"What do you mean?"
