Moreau.
Nobody speaks. Fitz's expression remains neutral, but his eyes narrow slightly as he scans the financial data. Logan's hostility hasn't disappeared, but skepticism's giving way to something else. Even Nitro's stopped typing, his attention fixed on the communication intercepts.
"Five years of documentation," Nocturne says quietly, staring at the name on screen. "Every operation I participated in, every transaction I witnessed, every communication I intercepted. Cross-referenced and verified. Enough to prove the Iron Choir's structure from street operatives to board members." Her voice hardens. "And enough to prove Moreau's been running interference for them the entire time. The Cardinal finally has a face."
Fitz looks at me, his expression unreadable. "Archer, your assessment?"
"She's telling the truth," I say without hesitation. "Everything at the monastery supports her story. Everything in these files confirms her intelligence. And everything about her behavior suggests desperation, not deception."
"That's not an objective assessment," Logan cuts in. "That's intuition. Gut feeling. Not tactical analysis."
"Sometimes intuition's all you have when the intelligence is compromised." I hold Fitz's gaze. "I trust her."
Fitz studies me for a long moment, weighing factors beyond the immediate tactical situation. When he speaks, decision comes through clearly.
"The files are compelling. But compelling isn't proof. I need independent verification before I commit Cerberus resources to protecting you and taking down an Interpol director."
"Then verify it," Nocturne says simply. "Cross-reference the financial transactions with known Iron Choir operations. Check the communication intercepts against intelligence failures. Build your case. Just do it fast, because the Laurent kidnapping happens soon."
"Days," Fitz says, the word landing heavy. "According to these files, we have days to verify your intelligence, identify the Cardinal as the mole, and stop the kidnapping before it happens."
"Days," she confirms. "After that, Amelie Laurent disappears, and the Iron Choir completes their acquisition."
Silence fills the operations center, everyone processing the implications. Days to unravel years of infiltration. Days to build a case against an Interpol director. Days to stop a kidnapping and protect the asset who made it all possible.
"We verify first. Berlin. Iron Choir's lieutenant, Dmitri Koval, operates clubs there. He's peripherally connected to the Laurent operation. If Nocturne's intelligence is accurate, Koval can confirm details." Fitz turns to Nocturne. "You'll accompany Archer to Berlin, make contact with Koval, verify the kidnapping timeline, and gather evidence on Iron Choir leadership structure."
"And if I can't verify it?" she asks quietly.
"Then we reevaluate everything." Fitz's tone leaves no room for negotiation. "But if your intelligence proves accurate, if Koval confirms what you're claiming, then Cerberus commits full resources to stopping the kidnapping and taking down Moreau."
"Understood," Nocturne says.
Fitz shifts his attention back to me, something harder settling into his features. "Archer, trust your instincts, not your feelings. Understand?"
Fitz's warning comes through clearly. Don't let whatever's developing between you and this operative compromise the mission. Don't let attraction cloud judgment. Don't let empathy override tactical assessment.
"Understood," I say, matching his tone.
"Good. You leave soon. Medical will patch her up before departure. Logan, brief them on Koval's operation." Fitz stands, dismissing us with the efficiency that's made him Cerberus's most effective operational director. "We don't have time to waste. Let's make it count."
Medical handles Nocturne's injuries with professional efficiency. Clean bandages. Antibiotics. Pain medication that she accepts without argument. Logan briefs us on Koval's Berlin operations, his hostility slightly tempered but never disappearing entirely.
Nitro provides tactical equipment, weapons, and communications gear. Everything we'll need for rapid extraction if Berlin goes sideways.
And through it all, awareness builds between Nocturne and me. Anger at the situation. Suspicion of motives. Attraction neither of us wants to examine. Everything compressed into glances that last too long, proximity that feels deliberate, tension that has nothing to do with operational security.
We take the elevator back up to the rooftop helipad where the helicopter still waits. Nocturne moves better now with the fresh bandages and pain medication, though exhaustion still carves lines around her eyes. I run through pre-flight checks while she settles into the co-pilot seat, her movements more assured this time.
The flight to the private airfield takes only minutes. Cerberus's jet sits waiting on the tarmac, sleek and fast, designed for moving operatives across borders without drawing attention from authorities who might ask uncomfortable questions.
We transfer from helicopter to the jet. Small interior, leather seats, sophisticated communications array. Nocturne settles into the seat across from me, exhaustion finally breaking through tactical composure now that immediate danger's passed. But her eyes stay sharp, tracking my movements, reading something in my expression that I'm not certain I want examined.
"Berlin," she says as the jet engines spool up. "Koval's dangerous. He's paranoid. He's violent. And he's connected enough with Iron Choir leadership that approaching him directly could compromise everything."
"Then we approach him indirectly," I reply. "We're not there to eliminate him. We're there to verify your intelligence and gather evidence."
"And if he recognizes me? If he realizes Nocturne's working with Cerberus?"
