Fitz launches into the tactical breakdown. Gala venue layouts displayed on multiple tablets. Entry and exit points marked. Security checkpoints noted. Guest list reviewed for potential threats or allies. Emergency extraction protocols detailed down to the second.
We have only a few days to prepare for an operation where the enemy knows we're coming, where every advantage we had is gone, where one mistake could cost an innocent child her life.
I absorb details about guard rotations and communication frequencies and backup contingencies. But my gaze keeps drifting back to that photograph, to Amelie's smile, to those crystal bracelets that represent everything she has left of her mother.
Across the room, Archer's attention shifts to me. No words pass between us, but his presence anchors me. We can do this. We have to.
Laurent asks questions, sharp and precise despite his emotional state. What happens if the Iron Choir moves before the gala? What if they change tactics? What if Amelie is taken before we can intervene? Fitz and Logan answer each one with the patience of professionals who understand a father's fear.
"We have surveillance on all known Iron Choir operatives in Monte Carlo," Logan says, tapping through security camera feeds. "Any movement toward you or Amelie triggers immediate alerts. You won't be alone for a moment between now and the gala."
"And Moreau?" Laurent's voice hardens. "The man who betrayed us. What happens when he makes contact?"
"We're tracking him," Fitz says. "Hotel de Paris, as I mentioned. He's requesting a meeting."
"With who?"
"All of us." Fitz's expression is grim. "Tomorrow morning. Says he has intelligence about the Conductor's plans."
"It's a trap," I say immediately.
"Probably," Fitz agrees. "But we need to know what he knows. What he gave the Iron Choir. What they're planning."
"And if he's genuine?" Laurent asks. "If he actually wants to help?"
"Then we use him," Archer says. "But we don't trust him. Not after Marrakesh."
Laurent's jaw tightens. "You understand why I agreed to this. Why I'm bringing my daughter to that gala instead of taking her and running."
"Because running won't save her," Fitz says quietly. "Our intelligence on the Iron Choir shows a pattern. If you refuse to cooperate, if you try to hide Amelie or disappear, they retaliate. They take someone else's daughter. Someone we don't know about. Someone we can't protect because we won't see it coming."
Ice settles in my stomach. It's brilliant and horrifying. The Iron Choir has backed Laurent into an impossible corner.
"But because we know about Amelie," I say slowly, understanding. "Because we know their plan?—"
"We have a chance to stop them," Archer says. "To protect your daughter and begin dismantling their operation. This is the opening we need."
Laurent's hands tighten on his knees. "Then use it. Do whatever it takes to keep her safe." He pauses, then asks, "And the Conductor?"
Fitz's expression hardens. "Even if we take down the current Conductor, another will rise. We all know that. But every operation we disrupt, every plan we expose, weakens them. Makes it harder for the next one." He looks at Laurent directly. "That's why this matters. Why protecting Amelie matters. Not just because she's your daughter, but because stopping this gives us leverage against an organization that's been untouchable for too long."
The weight of it settles over the room. This isn't just about saving one child. It's about using this knowledge to strike back at the Iron Choir in ways they won't expect.
The briefing stretches on, each detail another layer of preparation, another contingency to consider. By the time Laurent finally stands to leave, exhaustion has etched deeper lines around his eyes. He pauses at the door, looking back at me.
"The crystal bracelets," he says. "She always wears those bracelets. That's how you'll know for certain it's her and not some substitute they've arranged."
I nod, committing it to memory. "Crystal bracelets. Understood."
Laurent picks up the photograph, looks at it one more time, then holds it out to me. "Keep this. So you remember what you're fighting for. Who you're protecting."
I take it carefully, and the weight of it feels heavier than it should. On the back, I notice careful handwriting:Amelie Marie Laurent. Six years old. Loves the ocean.
He wrote that for me. For us. So we'd remember she's a person, so we'd fight harder.
"Thank you," Laurent says, and the gratitude in his voice threatens to undo me. "For doing this. For risking yourselves. Amelie is all I have left."
"We won't let anything happen to her," Archer says, and something in his tone steadies the tremor building in my hands.
