Everything clicks into place. Nocturne infiltrated the Iron Choir's meeting, likely gathered their digital intelligence—the computer setup suggests files were accessed, not deleted—then burned their paper archives.
The dead and wounded operatives in the courtyard weren't victims of a meeting gone wrong—they were casualties of her escape. Iron Choir operatives who mobilized when they heard our convoy approaching, catching her between them and the exit. She fought her way through them to reach the gates. Our approach forced her to run.
She burned the Iron Choir's archives. Not Cerberus intelligence. Not Interpol files. The Iron Choir's own records, meticulously kept and now utterly destroyed. An operative working for them wouldn't eliminate their operational history. An operative fighting against them would.
My comm unit chirps. Logan's voice crackles through the encrypted channel. "Archer, we've got a trace. Target's vehicle was spotted on the mountain road heading southeast. Looks like she's making for Monaco."
"Any survivors talking?" I ask.
"One. Iron Choir lieutenant, critical condition. Says a woman infiltrated the meeting and set the records room on fire before we arrived. He's confused, thinks we're with her."
"He thinks we're allies?"
"Yeah. He's asking why we didn't coordinate the attack better."
Eyes closed, I process the implications. The Iron Choir thinks Cerberus and Nocturne are working together. Which means they don't consider her one of their own. Which means the intelligence Fitz received is compromised.
"Pull back," I say. "Secure the site, but don't engage any Iron Choir remnants unless fired upon. I need to make a call."
Moving away from the burning records room, I find a position with clear line of sight to the valley below. The monastery sits high enough that my comm unit can reach Cerberus command without relay. I switch to the secure channel reserved for direct communication with Fitzwallace.
"Kingslayer to Command," I say.
Fitz's voice comes through immediately. "Report."
"Target was here. Iron Choir meeting was in progress when she arrived. She infiltrated, gathered intelligence, and destroyed the records room. Multiple Iron Choir casualties. The survivors think we're working with her." I pause. "Something's wrong with the intel. Scene doesn't match the profile."
Static crackles. When Fitz speaks again, his voice is careful. "Your assessment?"
"The intelligence we received about Nocturne is compromised. Someone fed us a false narrative. Her actions here don't match an operative working for the Iron Choir. They match someone gathering evidence against them."
"Could be misdirection," Fitz says, but his tone suggests he's already reached the same conclusion I have.
"Could be," I agree. "But Nitro confirms the burn patterns show deliberate placement—destroying records, not people. And she was copying Iron Choir files based on the computer setup. If she's turned, she's doing a terrible job of helping her new employers."
Fitz doesn't answer immediately. Then: "Track her. Get the truth. But if she's turned, you know what needs to be done."
"Understood."
"Archer," Fitz adds, his voice quieter. "Trust your instincts on this one. You've never been wrong about a target before. If something doesn't feel right, it probably isn't."
The connection cuts. Standing in the smoke and firelight, watching the monastery burn, I try to identify the feelinggnawing at my gut. Years of executing missions with precision, of never questioning orders, of returning to Opus Noir without hesitation. That certainty is what defines me. What makes me effective.
But the pieces don't add up. If she's turned, why destroy Iron Choir intelligence? Why not just disappear into their network where we'd never find her? Why go to ground in a location she has to know we'll trace?
My comm unit chirps again. Logan. "Archer, update. We've got a location ping. Villa outside Monte Carlo. Interpol safe house, according to the database. She just activated the security protocols."
Moving back toward the vehicles, my decision made, I respond. "Prep a chopper for immediate transport. I want to be there before she has time to regroup and run."
"Copy that. How many assets?"
"Just me."
"Archer—"
"She went to a registered safe house, Logan. If she wanted to disappear, she had the skills and resources. This is either a trap or a plea. Either way, a tactical team will force her hand. I go in alone, assess her status, and report back."
"Understood. Helicopter will be headed your way. Wheels up in minutes."
