Three old men.
I walked straight into the back of one, scattering whatever was in their hands—books, it turned out, thick paperbacks they'd been exchanging on the sidewalk.
They stumbled. One of them cursed in French, sharp and indignant.
I just stood there, frozen, my mind still half in the tactical loop, scanning for threats instead of watching where I was walking.
"Connor!" Mila's voice cut through the fog. She shot me a look—half concern, half exasperation—and immediately crouched down to help them gather the books.
"Je suis désolée," she said, her French soft and apologetic. "Il est—" She paused, searching for the word. "—distrait. Distracted."
The old men muttered amongst themselves, casting glares in my direction as they collected their books and shuffled off down the street.
When they were gone, Mila stood and turned to me, arms crossed.
"Are you really okay?" she asked.
I opened my mouth to answer. Maybe crack a joke about how much coffee I'd had. About how waiting around all day had turned me into a paranoid wreck.
But then I heard it.
Sirens.
Close. Getting closer.
My body went taut, instincts kicking in before my brain caught up. I scanned the street, tracking the sound, and my stomach dropped.
Three police cars. Converging from different directions. Blue lights flashing.
And they were slowing.
Right near us.
"Shit," I muttered.
Mila frowned. "What?—"
The cars stopped. Doors opened. Officers stepped out—four of them, hands resting on their belts, eyes locked on me.
Not Mila.
Me.
My mind raced through possibilities. Had someone posted the video with the Algerians? Had I been flagged entering the country?
The weapon.
Fuck.
I raised my hands slowly, deliberately, keeping them visible. The last thing I needed was a trigger-happy French cop deciding I was a threat.
"Messieurs," I said, keeping my voice calm. "Je suis armé."
I nodded toward my waistband. "Pistolet. But I'm part of an American task force. Joint operation."
It was bullshit. Complete, improvised bullshit. But I hoped—prayed—that Micah had enough pull to get me out of this before it spiraled.
One of the officers stepped forward, older, graying at the temples, his expression unreadable.
