I filed the reaction away for later. When we got home, I'd make him pay for every hitched breath, every flush, every moment of professional restraint.
The plane banked slightly, reminding me that we were descending toward Cincinnati. Toward my children waiting at the airport.
"Xander's temperature?"
Maxime considered this with the same care he applied to hostile acquisition contracts. "Different. Better. He needed proof you could choose me over pride. Children require evidence of their parents' capacity for forgiveness before they risk their own."
I'd provided that demonstration in blood, bullets, and Shaw's final breath.
"Ten minutes," Reid called from forward. "Time to become immortal again."
Maxime helped me get into my shirt. His touch lingered on my collar. When his fingers brushed my throat, I caught his wrist, grip tightening around delicate bones.
"These marks have faded," I said quietly, thumb pressing against the pulse point where I'd left bruises days ago. "That needs correcting when we get home."
His eyes darkened, pupils dilating as my grip tightened slightly. A soft sound escaped his throat. My cock throbbed at the sound. "Yes, sir."
The formality in his voice, even here, even now, sent electricity straight through me.
"Ready for immortality?" he asked, and his mouth curved just enough to suggest he knew exactly how mortal I felt.
I tested my range of motion, rolled shoulders that no longer ached, found authority settling back into my bones like armor. The pain remained but was manageable now. Useful, even.
"Ready," I said.
The plane began its descent, engines shifting pitch as we dropped through the cloud cover. The city spread below us,towers and contracts and employees whose paychecks had depended on decisions I would no longer make after tomorrow.
Tonight, it would become Xavier's kingdom. By all logic, the prospect of losing control should have triggered an existential crisis. Instead, it felt like finally exhaling a breath I'd held since my twenties.
Though letting go wasn't the same as not caring. Thirty years of blood and calculation had built that empire. Part of me would always be listening for the phone call that said it was burning down without me.
Ground crew swarmed the aircraft before the engines finished their death rattle, rolling stairs into position. The media encampment sprawled below: lights and cameras and reporters held behind expensive security cordons.
Beyond the chaos, three familiar figures waited beside an expensive black sedan.
My sons. My legacy. My future, waiting for their father to return from the last war he'd ever fight.
"Curtain up," Reid murmured, checking his sidearm out of habit.
I stood slowly, testing my body's renewed cooperation. The massage had worked its magic. I could move without broadcasting damage, could project the invincibility these people needed to see. Maxime handed me my cane, our fingers brushing.
His eyes held questions I answered with the slightest nod.
The cabin door opened. Cincinnati's humid air rushed in, heavy with summer storms and new possibilities. I stepped into the lights, into the hurricane of questions and strobing cameras. Maxime stayed at my shoulder like he'd been for three decades.
"Mr. Caisse-Etremont!" The voices crashed together like competing symphonies. "Can you comment on Macau? What was recovered? How many dead?"
I raised my hand. The cacophony died immediately.
"Ladies and gentlemen." I pitched my words to carry across the tarmac. "A terrorist named Gideon Shaw stole classified technology and used it to murder over a thousand innocent Americans in my hometown. Tonight, that terrorist is dead, and the weapon he stole has been recovered and secured."
The questions erupted like gunfire, but I'd been ready for wars like this my entire career. I gave them standard answers to expected questions. Yes, the operation was successful. No, there would be no further attacks. Yes, Lucky Losers would continue serving American interests under new leadership. No, operational details remained classified.
It took fifteen minutes to feed their hunger and establish tomorrow's narrative. Shaw would be remembered as a terrorist, Oklahoma as a tragedy, Lucky Losers as the heroes who delivered justice.
When it ended, when the final question died and the cameras stopped their electronic cannibalism, my sons were exactly where strategic thinking had positioned them.
Xavier approached first.
