I reach over and pull the spare earpiece from Archer's jacket pocket, fitting it in and connecting to comms. Logan's voice comes through immediately.
"Kingslayer, status?"
"Compromised and mobile," Archer replies, taking a hairpin turn that makes the tires scream. "Multiple hostiles in pursuit. Need immediate extraction."
"Roger that. Coordinates?"
Archer rattles off our position while navigating the treacherous road. I keep firing, keep trying to buy us time. Mountains drop away on one side, sheer cliff face rises on the other. The wrong move means death, but Archer doesn't hesitate, doesn't slow down, just drives with absolute confidence through terrain that should be impossible in the dark.
"Extraction point nearby," Logan says. "Old quarry, north side. Helicopter inbound."
"Copy," Archer confirms.
The road opens up slightly and the pursuing vehicles close the distance. Muzzle flash lights up the darkness. Bullets hammer the reinforced glass, punch through the tailgate. The armor's taking damage, starting to fail in places where repeated impacts have weakened it.
Archer jerks the wheel hard. The SUV leaves the road, plunging down an embankment toward what I hope is the quarry Logan mentioned. We hit rough terrain, bouncing violently. Equipment rolls in the back. Glass that hasn't already shattered finally gives up.
The quarry opens before us, a vast pit carved into the mountain. Archer aims for the flat area at the bottom where a helicopter waits, rotors already spinning. Searchlight cuts through darkness, illuminating our approach and the vehicles still pursuing us.
We hit the quarry floor hard enough to compress the suspension. Archer doesn't slow down, just aims straight for the helicopter. Distance closes. The pursuing vehicles follow us down the embankment, still firing, still determined to stop us before we reach extraction.
"Now," Archer says, and slams the brakes.
The SUV slides sideways in loose gravel. We're out before it fully stops, Archer hauling me toward the helicopter while returning fire behind us. The downdraft from the rotors whips my dress around my legs. Dust and debris fill the air. Bullets spark off rock and metal.
Hands reach out from the helicopter, pulling me up. I scramble inside, and Archer follows half a second later. The helicopter lifts with the door still partly open. The pilot gaining altitude fast, and the quarry falls away beneath us along with the vehicles and the guards and the entire nightmare we just escaped.
I'm shaking. Can't seem to stop. Adrenaline crash hitting all at once now that the immediate danger has passed. My hands tremble. My breath comes too fast and too shallow. The stolen weapon falls from my grip, clattering against the helicopter floor.
Archer pulls me into his arms and wraps himself around me completely. One hand cradles the back of my head, the other presses against my spine, and his entire body curves around mine like he can shield me from aftershocks the same way he shielded me from bullets.
"You're safe," he murmurs against my hair. "I've got you. You're safe."
I burrow closer, breathing him in. Gunpowder and sweat and something uniquely him beneath it all. My fingers clutch at his shirt, holding on like he's the only solid thing in a world that won't stop spinning.
"You came for me," I whisper, voice muffled against his chest. "On that terrace. You knew it was a trap and you came anyway."
His arms tighten fractionally. "Always."
"You could have been killed."
"But I wasn't." His lips press against my temple, staying there as he speaks. "And you're safe. That's what matters."
Years of holding back, of being Nocturne instead of Marissa, crack open all at once. I don't try to maintain the mask. Just let myself shake apart in his arms while the helicopter carries us away from Marrakesh.
"I thought I was going to lose you," I admit, voice cracking. "When the Conductor accused me, when the guards moved in, I thought this was it. That I'd watch you die trying to protect me."
"Never going to happen," he says, fierce and certain. "You're not losing me, Marissa. Not tonight. Not ever."
Hearing my real name from his lips breaks something open inside me. I press closer, and his grip shifts, pulling me fully onto his lap. My legs curl up, and he tucks me against him like I'm something precious that needs protecting. Like I'm more than the weapon, more than the asset, more than Nocturne.
Like I'm just Marissa, and that's enough.
The helicopter flies through darkness toward dawn. Through the open door, mountains give way to valleys, wilderness giving way to a small airfield where a private jet waits on the tarmac, engines already warming. We're leaving Marrakesh behind, leaving the Conductor and his estate and the cover I've maintained for years. Everything has changed. The Iron Choir knows I'm compromised. Moreau has betrayed us. Our carefully constructed operation is falling apart.
But Archer never loosens his hold. His lips press occasional kisses to my temple, my hair, my forehead. And somehow, despite everything going wrong, despite all the chaos, I feel right here.
The helicopter touches down near the jet. Archer keeps me close as we transfer from one aircraft to the other, his body still positioned between me and any potential threats. The jet's cabin is sleek and private, real seats instead of metal benches, but I don't let go of him as we settle in.
