Iwas a coward.
That's what I kept telling myself as I walked toward the café that morning. A fucking coward.
The plan had been simple. Clean. Go to the coffee shop, find Mila, and break things off. Tell her it was fun while it lasted, but she needed to leave Paris. I'd even booked her a flight—back to the States, or wherever the hell she wanted to go. First class. Open-ended ticket. Money wasn't an issue anymore, thanks to Micah's magic card.
I just needed her safe.
That was the smart thing to do. The right thing. The only thing that made sense given that Merrick was in Paris and my past was closing in like a noose.
But the moment I walked through that door and saw her sitting there—camera in hand, eyes bright, shoulders loose—the courage to do what was right evaporated.
She'd looked at me like I was someone worth waiting for.
And I'd let myself believe it.
I'd sat down. Let her take my picture. In public, where anyone could see. Where Merrick's people could be watching.
What an idiot.
Even worse, I'd promised her we'd talk tonight. Like talking was going to fix anything. Like words could make this situation less of a disaster.
So now, standing in The Sanctuary with Ellsworth pulling up CCTV footage on a dozen screens, I told myself I'd do it tonight. I'd tell her the truth—all of it—and then put her on that plane whether she wanted to go or not.
Maybe I'd have Ellsworth do it. He was good at being persuasive without raising his voice.
Yeah. That was the plan.
Except I knew it was bullshit even as I thought it.
"Anything?" I asked, leaning over Ellsworth's shoulder.
He scrolled through footage—grainy black-and-white images of Parisian streets, alleys, metro stations. Merrick's face appeared once, briefly, near the 11th arrondissement. Then nothing.
"He's moving carefully, sir," Ellsworth said. "Avoiding cameras when possible. But we'll find him."
I nodded, jaw tight.
If I could find Merrick and his goons—if I could take them out before they made another move—maybe I could buy myself time. Fly somewhere remote. Hide until this blew over.
Except it wouldn't blow over.
It never did.
I'd spent years running. So had the other eight. And all we'd done was delay the inevitable.
No.
Hiding was over.
For once, it was time for the truth.
Even if it cost me everything.
Ellsworth drove the now-repaired car through the narrow Parisian streets, the engine purring like it hadn't been shot at less than twenty-four hours ago.
I sat in the back, trying to steady my breathing.
The plan—if you could call it that—was simple. Pick up Mila. Bring her to The Sanctuary. Tell her enough of the truth that she'd understand why she needed to leave. Then put her on that plane.
