The private elevator takes us up to a conference room that's all sleek glass and modern furnishings. Surveillance monitors line one wall. The space feels secure, controlled, designed for exactly this kind of meeting.
"He's here," Logan says, glancing at his tablet.
A moment later, the door opens, and Deputy Director Jean-Claude Laurent steps inside. Everything about him screams high-level law enforcement and carefully cultivated control, right down to the tailored suit that probably cost more than most people make in a month.
But I see past the polished exterior. Dark circles under his eyes mirror the exhaustion I feel in my own bones, and lines of worry are etched deep around his mouth. His shoulders carry weight that has nothing to do with Interpol operations and everything to do with being a father whose daughter is in danger.
He's younger than I expected, somewhere in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and sharp grey eyes that miss nothing. Those eyes land on me immediately, assessing, calculating, trying to determine if I'm the person who can save his daughter or the liability who might get her killed.
"Deputy Director Laurent," Fitz says, extending his hand. "Thank you for coming."
Laurent shakes it briefly, then his attention shifts back to me. "You're Nocturne."
It's not a question. I meet his gaze without flinching. "I am."
"My daughter's life depends on you." His voice is carefully controlled, but I hear the desperation underneath. "And I'm told your cover has been compromised. That the people who want to take her know you're coming."
"They do," I say, refusing to soften the truth. "But that doesn't change our objective. We will protect Amelie. We will keep her safe."
"How?" Laurent's control cracks slightly. "If they know you're coming, how can you possibly?—"
"We adapt," Archer says from behind me. I hadn't heard him follow us up. "Your daughter is still the priority. Nothing has changed except our tactical approach."
Laurent looks between us, searching for something, for competence or confidence or some reason to believe we can pull this off when everything seems to be falling apart. I hold his gaze, projecting the certainty he needs even though doubt gnaws at my edges.
"Sit," Fitz says, gesturing to the seating area. "We need to go over the security protocols. Time is short."
We settle around a table. Laurent sitting, spine straight, hands clasped in his lap like a professional trying to maintain composure while his world crumbles around him.
Fitz pulls up a tablet, but before he can start, Laurent reaches into his jacket. My hand moves automatically toward my weapon, and Archer shifts his weight, ready to intercept if needed.
Laurent freezes. "Just a photo," he says carefully. "May I?"
Fitz nods, and Laurent withdraws a photograph, holding it for a moment before setting it on the coffee table between us.
A young girl smiles up from the image, about six years old with her father's grey eyes and a warmth that seems to radiate even through the photograph. She's wearing a simple sundress, standing on what looks like a Mediterranean balcony, wind catching her dark hair. On her wrist, I notice delicate crystal bracelets catching the sunlight.
"Amelie," Laurent says, voice rough. "She has a birthday coming next month. She loves the ocean, animated movies, and those crystal bracelets her mother gave her before she died. She wears them every day."
I stare at the photograph, and something in me shifts. This isn't an abstract mission anymore. This isn't just a target to protect or an objective to complete. This is a real child, someone's little girl, someone who loves the ocean and animated movies and wears her mother's jewelry as a connection to what she lost.
Someone who deserves to live. To grow up.
My fingers brush the edge of the photograph without conscious thought. "We'll keep her safe," I say, and I mean it with every fiber of my being. "I promise you."
Laurent's eyes glisten, but he blinks it back. "She doesn't know," he says quietly. "She doesn't know they're planning to take her. Doesn't know about any of this. She's six. She thinks she's going to a fancy party with her father."
"That's good," Fitz says. "The less she knows, the better. She'll act naturally, won't draw attention by being nervous or watching for threats."
"We have people embedded in your security detail," Logan adds, pulling up his own tablet. "They'll be close to Amelie at all times without her knowing they're anything other than standard protection."
"And you two?" Laurent looks at Archer and me. "Where will you be?"
"Visible," I say. "Drawing their attention. Making them focus on us instead of the embedded team."
"Bait," Laurent says flatly.
"Distraction," Archer corrects. "With purpose."
