The secondary safe house has two bedrooms. Isabella takes one. I take the other.
But an hour later, her door opens. She crosses to my room, slips into bed beside me.
"I can't sleep," she whispers.
I pull her against me. She's shaking slightly. Adrenaline crash from the firefight.
"You did good tonight," I say. "Stayed calm under fire. Kept moving. Followed orders."
"People died."
"Yes."
"More will die tomorrow."
"Yes." I don't soften it. "Guards. Lazarev if he's there. Maybe us if we're not good enough."
She's quiet for a moment. Then: "I'm scared."
"Good. Fear keeps you sharp." I turn her to face me. "But I need you to channel that fear into focus tomorrow. When we breach that facility, there's no room for hesitation. You identify compounds fast. I destroy them. We extract. That's the whole op."
"What if I freeze?"
"You won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because you didn't freeze tonight when armed men came through that door. You moved. You ran. You fought." I cup her face. "You're stronger than you think, chère. And tomorrow, you're going to prove it."
She kisses me then. Desperate. Hungry. Needing the connection before we walk into fire.
I give her what she needs. Take what I want. Claim her completely.
Because tomorrow, we might die.
But tonight, she's mine.
I hold her close, listening to her breathing. Lying awake, I run through scenarios.
Six guards. Lazarev. Potential Iron Choir reinforcements. Compounds that could kill us if the demolition goes wrong.
High probability of casualties. Higher probability of mission failure.
But we're out of options.
Tomorrow at midnight, we breach that facility. We destroy those compounds. And we end this before Isabella's research becomes a weapon.
Or we die trying.
Either way, it ends in Rotterdam.
13
ISABELLA
Iwake to gray light filtering through industrial windows and Remy's arm heavy across my waist. The secondary safe house smells like concrete and old metal. My body aches from yesterday's running gun battle through Rotterdam streets, but the ache grounds me. It's proof I'm alive when I could easily be dead.
Remy's breathing is slow and even behind me. He's still asleep. I shift carefully, not wanting to wake him, but his arm tightens reflexively, pulling me back against his chest. Still asleep but responding to my movement with possession even in unconsciousness.
