"Kingslayer." Fitz's voice, muffled but urgent. "We need to talk."
Marissa stirs, blinking awake. Her hand automatically reaches for the weapon on the nightstand before she remembers where we are. Old habits.
"What is it?" I call, keeping my voice low.
"Laurent's requesting an immediate meeting," Fitz says through the door. "And we have a problem. Moreau just landed. He's in Monte Carlo now, not in a couple of days. We're out of time."
Marissa's eyes meet mine, and I watch her shift from exhausted woman to operative in seconds. Her armor going back up. Her professional mask sliding into place.
"We'll be down in a few minutes," I tell Fitz.
His footsteps fade away. Marissa sits up. Pauses. Looks down at the clothes we stripped out of last night—still stained with Marrakesh.
"I have nothing to wear," she says flatly.
I cross to the closet, pull it open. "Sweats, leggings, sweaters. Safe house standard issue." Logan must have stocked it before we arrived. Then I notice the jeans and sweater folded on the top shelf—men's size, exactly my measurements. Logan thought of everything.
Marissa rifles through the options, pulls out black leggings and a grey sweater. Efficient. Practical. She dresses quickly while I pull on the jeans and sweater Logan left.
"We better handle it," she says, tugging the sweater down. "Because if Moreau's here already, that means the Conductor's timeline is moving faster than we thought."
Marissa transforms back into Nocturne, piece by piece. Weapons. Confidence that comes from years of training. But underneath, the woman who slept in my arms is still there. Who whispered my name like a prayer. Who chose to stay with me even when everything's falling apart.
"Ready?" she asks, checking her weapon.
I finish dressing, holster my own gun, and meet her at the door. "Ready."
We head downstairs to the ops center beneath the cottage. It’s a stark contrast—the modest cottage above gives way to sleek technology below. Fitz paces near the main command station, phone pressed to his ear. Logan's at the surveillance hub, multiple screens glowing with live feeds from across Monte Carlo. The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on.
Fitz ends his call and turns to us. "Moreau landed an hour ago. Hotel de Paris. He's requesting a meeting."
"A meeting?" Marissa's voice is sharp. "With whom?"
"With us." Fitz's expression is grim. "Says he has information about the Conductor's plans. Claims he wants to help."
I feel Marissa go rigid beside me. "It's a trap."
"Probably," Fitz agrees. "But Laurent arrives in less than an hour, and he wants answers about why our operation is compromised."
Logan looks up from the surveillance feeds. "And there's more. We're picking up increased Iron Choir chatter in the city. They know Moreau's here. They know Cerberus operates in Monte Carlo. Question is whether they've pinpointed this location yet."
The timeline just collapsed from a few days to right now. And Moreau's playing games we don't understand yet.
15
MARISSA
"We're not bringing him to the safe house," Fitz says from the ops center command station. "Laurent meets us at Opus Noir. The club is secure, known to the Iron Choir, and doesn't expose our backup facility."
Smart call. The safe house is our hidden advantage. Laurent doesn't need to know it exists.
Archer's gaze finds mine across the command station. His expression is calm, controlled, but I recognize the tension in his jaw. We both know this meeting could go sideways fast. Laurent has every right to be furious that our operation got compromised, that his daughter's life is now hanging by an even thinner thread because Moreau burned my cover.
"How long until the meeting?" I ask.
"He's arriving in less than an hour," Logan says, checking his tablet. "Private entrance, secure conference room on the third floor. We'll have the space swept before he arrives."
The drive to Opus Noir takes us back along the coast, past the casino district, to the elegant building which looks from the outside exactly what it claims to be—an exclusive club for Monte Carlo's elite. The real operations are housed in the floors above the glamorous surface.
