"We reconvene at 0600. Dismissed."
They filed out. Only Xavier, Reid, and Maxime remained.
"Real casualty numbers," I said once we were alone. "Not the public figures."
Reid's expression darkened. "One thousand seventy-eight confirmed dead. The government is suppressing the full count. Another four hundred thirty-two in critical condition."
Fifteen hundred men, women, and children all dead to send me a message.
"Maxime. Establish a victims' fund. One billion initial allocation. Every affected family taken care of. No hospital bills. No funeral expenses. Full support for long-term care."
"I'll arrange it. No red tape. Direct support."
"Xavier." I turned to my son. "Your expertise is essential to Reid's team."
He studied me. "It's going to be dangerous. Shaw's proven he bleeds."
For an instant, doubt flickered. Could I ask this of my son?
"Which is why we stop him before he sells any version of this technology."
Xavier ran a hand through his bright hair. "I said I'd help you stop Shaw. Don't mistake this for reconciliation. I'm here for the mission."
Something tightened in my chest. "Thank you."
The door closed behind him. Only Maxime remained.
He stood at the window, silhouetted against Cincinnati's skyline in the same posture he'd held for thirty-two years. That posture used to mean nothing.
Now it made something tighten low in my gut.
"You're planning to oversee the operation from Macau," he said.
"Yes. Command post separate from the infiltration team."
He turned from the window. "Shaw has demonstrated he's willing to kill thousands to get to you. He won't hesitate to eliminate you personally."
The concern in his voice caught me off guard, not because it existed but because he was finally letting me see it.
"Look at me," I said quietly.
He turned, his composed expression betrayed by the tightness around his eyes.
I moved toward him, each tap of my cane marking the distance between us. He remained still, and only the rapid rise and fall of his chest betrayed his reaction.
By the time I reached him, the air between us had grown thick. When I raised my hand, he leaned toward me.
My fingers hovered above his throat. "You're actually afraid. Not of operational failure. Of me dying."
"Yes."
My fingers made contact, tracing the spots where my teeth had marked him days earlier. His pulse jumped beneath my touch.
"In Tehran, you watched three assassins put bullets in my car without blinking. In Lagos, you finished your coffee while a bomb ticked down across the street." I increased the pressure against his throat. "But Shaw has you worried."
"Shaw is different. He knows you. Knows what matters to you."
I stepped closer and used my height to force him to tilt his head back. His back pressed against the window, trapped between glass and my body.
