"Yes, Sir."
I pull her back into my arms properly, arranging her against my chest with her head tucked under my chin. Aftercare is just as important as everything that came before. More, maybe. The vulnerability doesn't end when the rope comes off.
"How are you feeling?" I ask.
"I feel raw and exposed, but also lighter somehow." She searches for the right words. "Like I put down something heavy I didn't realize I was holding."
"Because that's what happened." I press a kiss to the crown of her head. "You've been strong for so long, bearing everything alone. Sometimes letting go is the bravest thing you can do."
"Because it requires trust."
"Yes."
We lie there in comfortable silence, her breathing gradually synchronizing with mine. Through the window, the eveningcall to prayer echoes across Marrakesh's medina, haunting and beautiful. Tomorrow we'll walk into danger. But tonight, for these hours, we've carved out something that belongs only to us.
"Archer?" she says eventually.
"Mm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For seeing me. For not flinching."
"You don't need to thank me for that," I tell her. "That's just being human."
"It seems to be rarer than you'd think in our line of work."
She's not wrong. Operatives learn early to compartmentalize, to separate who they are from what they do. Emotions become liabilities, attachments become weaknesses. We spend years perfecting the art of not caring too much, not feeling too deeply, not letting anyone close enough to matter.
And then someone comes along who shatters every carefully constructed wall, and you have to decide whether to rebuild or let them in.
I made the choice. No taking that back now.
I chose to let her in. And terrifying as that is, I can't regret it.
"Get some rest," I suggest. "We have tomorrow night to prepare for, and you need your strength."
"Will you stay?"
"As long as you want me to."
She settles deeper against my chest, one hand fisting in my shirt like an anchor. Within minutes her breathing evens out into sleep, exhaustion finally claiming her. I hold her through the transition, keeping watch while she gives herself over to dreams I hope are kinder than the reality we face.
Tomorrow we'll play our parts at the Iron Choir gathering. We'll smile and charm and pretend we're just another set of dangerous people in a room full of predators. But tonightproved something I already suspected: we're not just operatives anymore. We're not just temporary allies brought together by necessity.
We're partners. In every sense of the word.
And when this is over, when the mission is complete and the dust settles, I'm going to make sure she understands what that means. That I'm not letting her walk away. That what started in a villa with a flash drive and a desperate gamble has become something neither of us can uncross.
Outside, Marrakesh settles into evening. Inside, I hold the woman I'm falling in love with and let myself imagine, just for a moment, what it might feel like to keep her.
11
MARISSA
Marrakesh, The Iron Choir's Gathering
