"After," he says finally, "we figure it out."
I nod, and he pulls me in, pressing his forehead to mine. No more words needed. We both know what we're fighting for now.
When we finally pull apart, the armory feels different. Less like preparation for battle and more like acknowledgment of what comes next.
"Come on," I say, taking his hand. "We should get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be complicated."
We head upstairs to the bedroom, and this time when we climb into bed, there's no desperate need to prove we're alive. There's just quiet closeness, his arms around me, my head on his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat anchoring me through the uncertainty of what's coming.
"We'll keep her safe," I murmur against his skin.
"We will," he agrees.
I'm almost asleep when pounding on the door jolts me awake. Archer's already moving, reaching for his weapon before his eyes are fully open.
"What?" he calls, voice rough.
Fitz's voice comes through the door, urgent and strained. "Moreau just sent confirmation for tomorrow's meeting. Hotel de Paris, early morning. But there's more."
I'm out of bed now, pulling on the sweater I discarded earlier. "What more?"
"He's not alone," Fitz says through the door. "He's bringing someone. A representative from the Iron Choir. Says they want to negotiate."
Archer and I exchange glances. This is bad. This is so much worse than we thought.
"Negotiate what?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"Amelie," Fitz says. "They want to negotiate for Amelie Laurent’s safety."
Ice settles in my stomach because this changes everything. The Iron Choir doesn't negotiate. They take what they want and eliminate anyone who stands in their way. If they're coming to the table, it means they're playing a game we don't understand yet.
"We're out of time," Fitz continues. "The timeline just accelerated. Tomorrow's meeting isn't just about Moreau. It's about stopping the Iron Choir before they move on Laurent's daughter."
I look at Archer, see my own determination reflected in his eyes. Our careful timeline just became right now, and everything we planned might not be enough.
"Tell them we'll be there," I say, voice steady despite the fear churning beneath. "Early morning. We'll hear what they have to say."
"And then?" Fitz asks.
"Then we stop them," Archer says. "Whatever it takes."
Fitz's footsteps fade away. Silence settles heavy in the bedroom. Tomorrow morning we face Moreau and an Iron Choir representative. Tomorrow we walk into a situation where anything could happen.
But tonight, right now, I have this moment with Archer, this promise of something beyond the mission, this fragile hope that we might survive long enough to figure out what we are to each other.
"Sleep," Archer says, pulling me back into bed. "We need to be sharp tomorrow."
I settle against him, but sleep doesn't come easily. My mind keeps returning to the photograph in my pocket.Six years old. Loves the ocean.Tomorrow we sit across from people who want to negotiate for a child's life.
The Iron Choir doesn't negotiate.
Which means tomorrow, we find out what they really want.
16
ARCHER
Hotel de Paris
