The same cop who'd arrested me—the older one with graying temples—pushed the door open and stepped inside. He held my pistol in one hand, the evidence bag with the magazine and rounds in the other.
"You are free to go," he said in accented English.
I blinked. "That's it?"
He set the weapon and bag on the table between us. "Your credentials checked out."
Translation:Micah came through. Again.
I picked up the pistol, checked the chamber—clear—and glanced at the cop. Then I nodded toward the magazine, silently asking if it was okay to load.
He shook his head. "Perhaps it is best you wait."
I followed his gaze through the window. Half the office was watching us now, cops leaning against desks, arms crossed, expressions ranging from curious to skeptical.
Right. Loading a weapon in a police station probably wasn't the best optics.
I pocketed the magazine and rounds, then tucked the pistol into my waistband and covered it with my jacket.
The cop watched me, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
"A friendly word of warning," he said. "Whoever called us on you? You might want to figure that out. For your cover."
I met his eyes. He didn't believe the story—mine or whatever Micah had fed them. But he was professional enough not to push it.
"Noted," I said. "Thank you."
He nodded once, then stepped aside to let me pass.
The walk through the station felt longer than it should have. More stares. More curiosity. But none of it hostile.
The French. Not so bad after all.
Ellsworth was waiting outside in the black car, engine idling, his expression calm as ever.
I slid into the back seat and exhaled for what felt like the first time in hours.
"Mila?" I asked immediately.
"At The Sanctuary," Ellsworth said, pulling smoothly into traffic. "Waiting."
Relief flooded through me so fast it left me lightheaded.
"Thank you," I said.
He inclined his head slightly. "Of course, sir."
We drove in silence for a few blocks, the city sliding past the windows like a film reel. I watched without really seeing, my mind already racing ahead to what I needed to say. To how I was going to explain this mess without scaring her off entirely.
Ellsworth cleared his throat gently.
"If I may, sir," he said. "It might be prudent to tell her what truth you can."
I huffed a bitter laugh. "Yeah. I was coming to that."
Another pause. Then I glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
"Do the Brits have a saying like the Americans say clusterfuck?" I asked.
