Mitzy bounces forward when Jenny finally calls for tech review, her rainbow hair catching the holographic light like a prism. She's brilliant, her eyes holding the sharp focus of someone who sees the world in ones and zeros.
"Okay, okay, okay." She spreads an array of items across the table. Watches. Earrings. Tie clips. Pens. All looking completely ordinary. "These are not your grandfather's spy gadgets."
She picks up a watch—sleek, expensive-looking, the kind any security professional might wear. "Micro-camera. Comms unit. Emergency beacon. Plus—" She presses something on the side, and the air around it shimmers. "—a targeted EMP. Thirty-foot radius. Kills all electronics dead."
"How long?" Mac reaches for the watch, turning it over in his massive hands with surprising care.
"Sixty seconds. Ninety if you're lucky." Mitzy grins. "Plenty of time to get somewhere you shouldn't be."
She moves to the earrings—elegant drops that catch the light. "Fast-acting sedative. Aerosol delivery on contact. Touch these to someone's skin, they're down in three seconds, out for twenty minutes."
"And these?" Charlie holds up what looks like a simple hair clip.
"Tracker. Plant it on someone, we can follow them anywhere within a ten-mile radius." Mitzy's grin widens. "Also doubles as a lock pick if you're desperate."
The technology is remarkable. My work with Merlin has always relied on simpler tools—talent, timing, insider knowledge. This level of sophistication is military-grade. Maybe beyond.
"Where did you get this equipment?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
Mitzy's grin falters. She glances at Sam, who's been silent throughout the briefing. He steps forward, and the easy-going mask he usually wears drops away.
"We have resources." His voice is flat. Final. "That's all you need to know."
The message is clear—don't ask questions we won't answer.
Fair enough.
"One more thing." Jenny pulls up a new image. A man in his late forties, distinguished-looking, with salt-and-pepper hair and calculating eyes. "Donovan Price. Head of Faulks estate security. Former military. Delta Force. He's not just muscle—he's smart, experienced, and loyal to Henry Faulks above all else."
"Which means?" Forest asks.
"Which means if he suspects anything—anything at all—he won't hesitate to lock down the entire estate." Jenny'sexpression goes grim. "If that happens, we abort. Vivianne's safety is priority one. We don't take risks that might get her hurt."
The words hang in the air. An acknowledgment that, for all our planning, all our preparation, success isn't guaranteed.
Failure might mean leaving Vivianne behind.
"That won't happen." My voice is quiet but certain. "We're getting her out."
"Your confidence is touching." Jenny's tone is dry. "But confidence doesn't stop bullets."
"Neither does pessimism."
For a moment, we stare at each other. Then her mouth quirks—not quite a smile, but close. "Fair point. Alright, people. Final equipment check, then get some rest. Tomorrow we start surveillance runs. I want to know every car that comes and goes from that estate, every delivery truck, every pattern we can exploit."
The team disperses. Mac and Blaze huddle over the security details. Jon, Brett, and Charlie review the catering schedule. Forest and CJ confer quietly in the corner.
I stay at the table, staring at the holographic estate. Somewhere in that maze of wealth and privilege, Vivianne is trapped. Counting down to a wedding she doesn't want. To a life she never chose. Which brings up memories of Catherine and the job where everything went wrong. We lost Catherine that day. Buried her a week later. Six months after that, we lost Nicholas after his trial.
"You're thinking about Catherine."
I don't turn at Merlin's voice. He knows me too well. "How did you guess?"
"Because I'm thinking about her too." He moves beside me, his reflection ghostly in the holographic light. "About all the ways that job went wrong. All the signs we missed."
"We're not missing signs this time." I finally look at him. Really look. The lines around his eyes have deepened over the past month. The silver in his hair, catching the blue light, makes him look older. Tired. "We're going to save her, Merlin. And we're getting the Swan back."
Something flickers across his face. "Paul?—"
