"Good." My hands find her face, letting myself have this moment before Rotterdam and chaos and whatever comes after. "Because I'm not letting you go."
I kiss her slowly and deliberately, tasting the promise on her lips. Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer. The heat between us builds, every point of contact sparking awareness. This isn't just desire. This is commitment to whatever future we can build from the wreckage of weapons and vendetta and compromised ops.
When we finally break apart, twilight has deepened to full darkness outside. The magnolia scent drifts through the open doors, sweet and heavy in the humid air. Papa's old cigars have embedded their smell deep into the leather furniture, and the combination pulls me between past and present. Between the boy who left this house and the man who brought Isabella home.
Isabella pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. "Day after tomorrow."
I brush my thumb along her jaw. "We'll be ready."
Rotterdam waits. The compounds wait. Lazarev waits. And if we survive, maybe we'll figure out what comes after.
11
ISABELLA
The smell of chicory coffee drifts up from the kitchen, mixing with birdsong and the weight of what comes next.
I dress in borrowed clothes from Margot's closet: jeans that fit well enough, a blouse in deep green. My reflection looks steadier than it has in weeks. The fear is still there, coiled beneath my ribs, but controlled now. The way Remy has taught me to channel adrenaline into focus.
When I reach the kitchen, he's already there. Leaning against the counter with his coffee, Remy takes up space in that way he has that makes everything else feel smaller. His gaze tracks my entrance, moves over me with the kind of assessment that misses nothing. Cataloging my state, measuring my readiness.
"Sleep?" The question is clipped. A command disguised as inquiry.
"Enough." I pour coffee, add cream from the small pitcher someone has set out. "You?"
"A few hours." He drains his mug, sets it in the sink with deliberate precision. "Luc's got extraction coordinates. Memorize them."
The words land like an order. Because they are.
Luc appears with his laptop, drops into a chair at the table. "Extraction team confirmed. They stage in Rotterdam the day of operation. Safe house northeast of the port district." He turns the screen toward me. Maps, coordinates, emergency protocols laid out with military precision. "These numbers don't get written down. You commit them to memory or you don't leave this kitchen."
The threat underneath is casual. Matter-of-fact. He means every word.
The coordinates burn into my brain as I repeat them silently.
"What happens if we can't reach them?" I ask.
Luc's expression doesn't shift. Cold. Calculating. "You have a small window after the op to reach the safe house. Miss it, and the team leaves Rotterdam without you." He closes the laptop with a sharp click. "Without extraction support, the Iron Choir will hunt you across Europe. Hope you've got a backup plan."
Remy pushes off the counter, crosses to the table. He doesn't sit, just stands over us instead, presence dominating the space. Control radiating from him like heat. "Technical verification. Walk me through it."
Pulling out a chair, I sit. Remy remains standing. Authority without question. This is his op. His planning session. I'm providing expertise, but he owns every decision in this room.
"Three separate components," I say. "Base catalyst, binding agent, activation compound. Emil's lab was synthesizing them individually to reduce transport risk. Individually, they're inert. Combined in the correct ratios with proper aerosolization, they create a neurotoxic agent lethal in enclosed spaces."
"Concentrations?" Remy's tone is flat. Professional.
"The base catalyst is an organophosphate derivative with a modified acetylcholinesterase inhibitor. Concentration needs to be high enough for weaponized application. Below that, it degrades too quickly to be effective." I meet his eyes. "Thebinding agent is a polymer matrix I developed for controlled medical dispersion. It's what makes the compound stable enough to weaponize. Without it, the base catalyst breaks down before reaching lethal concentrations."
"And the activation compound?"
"Triggers the reaction that creates the aerosol. It's essentially a catalyst accelerant combined with a dispersal mechanism. When all three components mix in the correct ratios, the activation compound initiates a rapid oxidation reaction that generates the toxic aerosol."
Remy leans forward, palms flat on the table. The movement brings him into my space without touching me. Dominance through proximity. "How do you identify them on site?"
"The base catalyst has a distinctive ammonia odor in concentrated form. Strong enough to detect from a meter away if the container is compromised. The binding agent has specific viscosity—it pours like honey, not water. Thick, translucent, slightly amber in color under normal light. The activation compound produces a pale yellow tint under UV light. Without UV, it looks like clear liquid, easily mistaken for water or solvent."
"So you need UV equipment." Luc types something. "Portable?"
