"What if the chemistry creates toxic byproducts?" I ask.
"That's why you'll be wearing a respirator rated for chemical exposure." He finishes with one charge, sets it aside, starts on the next. "And why we extract immediately after detonation. We won't stay to confirm complete destruction. The heat alone will be sufficient."
"How do you know?"
"Because thermite burns at twenty-five hundred degrees Celsius. Your compounds break down at significantly lower temperatures." He meets my eyes. "I've done this before,chère. Trust the science."
I do trust it. I trust him. Which is terrifying and grounding all at once.
Luc's phone buzzes. He checks it, frowns. "Extraction team reports increased activity around the facility. Two additional vehicles arrived this morning. Could be reinforcements."
"How many?" Remy asks.
"Unknown. Vehicles were SUVs. Capacity for multiple personnel each."
Remy's jaw tightens. "So we could be looking at six guards plus reinforcements."
"Possibly. Or it could be shift relief. My contact can't confirm without getting closer."
"Don't risk it. We work with worst-case assumption." Remy returns to the explosives. "Could be twenty hostiles or more. We'll need more ammunition."
Luc nods. "I'll coordinate with the team."
They discuss tactical adjustments while I sit at the table, processing the numbers. Multiple armed hostiles. Plus Lazarev, who is apparently working with the Iron Choir and wants Remy dead.
The weight of it settles heavy across my shoulders. We're not running a surgical strike anymore. We're walking into a small war.
Remy must sense my spiraling because he crosses to where I'm sitting, tilts my chin up with two fingers. "Where's your head?"
"The numbers. The hostiles."
"Us plus Luc's team. Better odds than some ops I've run."
"That's supposed to be comforting?"
"No. It's supposed to be reality." His thumb brushes my jaw. "You proved last night you don't freeze under fire. In real time, you do exactly what we practiced. Identify compounds. Follow my orders. Trust the team to handle security. That's all you need to focus on."
"And if something goes wrong?"
"Then we adapt. Same as we did last night when the safe house got hit." His eyes are dark, intense. "I will get you out, Isabella. Even if it costs me everything. Understand?"
The certainty in his voice makes my throat close. Makes me want to argue that his life matters as much as mine. But I know he won't hear it. Won't accept that his safety is as important as completing the mission.
So I just nod. "Understood."
"Good." He releases my chin, steps back. "Luc, I need two hours to finish prep. Keep her occupied."
Luc looks up from his tablet. "We'll run scenarios. Make sure she knows the facility layout by memory."
Remy nods. "Use the blueprints your contact sent this morning. Fire exits, guard stations, everything."
The next two hours are brutal. Luc pulls up detailed facility blueprints on his tablet—architectural plans acquired through his Rotterdam security contacts, people who worked port infrastructure and had access to building records. He drills me on the layout until I can navigate the floor plan with my eyes closed. Entry points, guard stations, storage sections, emergency exits. He makes me repeat it until the information is automatic.
"North wall emergency exit," he says.
"Twelve meters from the southwest storage section, behind the loading equipment. Card reader access, but Remy can bypass with?—"
"Tools he'll carry. Good. Security station."
