I move through the riad systematically, checking windows, testing locks, verifying that the security system Cerberus installed is functioning properly. Motion sensors in the alleyway. Pressure plates at key entry points. Cameras covering blind spots. Everything reads green.
Next I pull out my encrypted phone and send a status update to Logan at Opus Noir. The message is brief:In position.
His response comes seconds later:Stay sharp. Conductor's guest list just tripled.
That's concerning but not unexpected. Iron Choir gatherings attract power the way corpses attract flies. We'll deal with tomorrow's complications tomorrow. Tonight belongs to us.
I find silk rope in the supply closet. Cerberus operatives have varied needs, and this safe house is equipped accordingly. The rope is high-quality, designed for climbing but soft enough not to chafe skin. Perfect. I also locate a blindfold, several small towels, and an insulated container suitable for holding ice.
By the time I reach the master bedroom, enough time has passed. I knock once before entering.
"Come in," she calls.
Marissa sits on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed but barefoot, her shoes lined up neatly against the wall. Military precision even in vulnerability. She's removed her crystal bracelets and set them on the nightstand, which tells me more about her state of mind than words could. Those bracelets areher tether to who she used to be. Removing them means she's choosing to be present, here, now, without armor.
"How was the perimeter?" she asks, aiming for casual and almost succeeding.
"Secure. We're alone, and we'll know if that changes." I set my supplies on the dresser where she can see them. Transparency matters. "How are you feeling?"
"Nervous," she admits. "But not scared. Is that strange?"
"Not at all." I move closer, stopping an arm's length away. Close enough to touch but giving her space. "Nervous means you're engaged. Scared would mean you don't trust me."
"I do trust you. That's what terrifies me."
"Because trust means vulnerability."
"And vulnerability means risk."
"Yes," I agree. "But it also means possibility. The possibility that someone might actually see you, all of you, and choose you anyway."
Her eyes glisten for just a moment before she blinks the emotion away. "You sound very certain."
"That's because I am." I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to. She doesn't. My hand curves around her jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone. "I've seen who you are, Marissa. Not just Nocturne the operative or the face you show the Iron Choir. I've seen the woman who touches her bracelets when she's anxious, who told me about Prague even though it hurt to revisit, who almost kissed me thousands of meters above the earth because she couldn't help herself. And I'm choosing you."
"For how long?" The question barely makes it past her lips.
"For as long as you'll have me."
She leans into my hand, eyes closing. "Show me, then. Show me what you meant."
"Stand up."
She does, and I move behind her, hands settling on her shoulders. Tension radiates through her muscles despite her stated willingness. Years of hypervigilance don't vanish because we want them to.
"First," I say, voice low and steady, "we establish ground rules. You've already given me your safe word. Use it anytime you need to. Beyond that, I'm going to ask you questions, and I need you to answer honestly. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"Yes, Sir," I correct gently.
A beat of silence. Then, "Yes, Sir."
"Good. Are you comfortable with rope?"
"I think so, Sir."
"Are you comfortable being blindfolded?"
