I pull out the encrypted phone, keying Fitz's direct line. It rings twice before he answers.
"Pascal. Sit rep."
"Mission complete. Iron Choir's Rotterdam facility destroyed, chemical stockpiles neutralized, primary target eliminated." My voice stays flat, professional. Just another successful operation in a career full of them. "Isabella Durand is secure and extracted. No civilian casualties. Clean execution."
Silence on the other end, long enough that I wonder if the connection dropped. Then Fitz's voice comes through, careful and measured. "Lazarev?"
"Dead. Body recovered from blast site, confirmed by Rotterdam emergency services."
Another pause. "You're certain?"
"Positive identification pending formal autopsy, but yes. I'm certain." I watched them pull the body bag from rubble. Heard fire investigators confirm single fatality at blast center. Lazarev's not walking away from explosives detonated at point-blank range.
"Outstanding work, Pascal. This closes a significant operational liability." Fitz's approval comes through clearly. Rare enough that I register it. "Return to London for full debriefing. I'll expect you within the next few days."
This is the moment. The decision I made standing in that Rotterdam apartment while rigging charges to kill a man who's haunted me for years.
"I'm not coming back, Fitz."
The silence stretches longer this time. "Explain."
"I'm done. With Cerberus, with being someone's weapon, with living out of safe houses and burning my life down every few years to maintain operational security." Done. A decade with Cerberus, ended with a phone call. Can't take it back now. "I'm going home. New Orleans. For good."
"Pascal—"
"This isn't negotiable." I keep my voice level, respectful but final. "I've given Cerberus over a decade. Completed every mission assigned, handled every situation that needed handling. But I'm choosing to walk away now, while I still can."
Fitz doesn't respond immediately. When he does, his tone shifts. Less commanding officer, more something that might be understanding. "This is about the chemist."
"This is about me choosing a life worth living instead of just surviving until the next op kills me." Isabella stirs against my side, not fully awake but registering the conversation. "She's part of that choice, yes. But it's bigger than one person."
Another pause. "You've earned this, Pascal. More than earned it." His voice carries understanding rather than warning. "But I need to ask - what about the Iron Choir? If they retaliate, if someone decides Isabella Durand's research is valuable enough to pursue despite Rotterdam's destruction?"
"Then I'll handle it." My hand tightens on Isabella's where it rests against my thigh. Mine to protect. "With or without Cerberus backing."
"You'll have the backing." Fitz's response comes immediately, firm. "Just because you're choosing a different lifedoesn't mean I'm cutting you loose, Pascal. You need resources, you need backup, you call. No questions asked."
Fitz exhales slowly. "I want you to know something."
I wait, sensing this matters.
"The door stays open. Always." His voice is firm, certain. "You just need someone who understands what you've sacrificed and what you've survived, you call me. Off the books, no questions asked. You're not just walking away from an agency, Remy. You're family. That doesn't end because you choose to live your life."
Something tightens in my chest. I wasn't expecting that. "Fitz?—"
"I mean it. And if you ever decide civilian life isn't for you, or if you want to consult on operations, the door's open for that too. Cerberus will always have a place for you, in whatever capacity you choose." He pauses. "But I hope you build something worth keeping. You've destroyed enough for one lifetime. Time to create something that matters."
"Thank you, sir." The gratitude is deeper than I can express. "For everything."
"Take care of yourself, Pascal. And that brilliant chemist of yours." A hint of amusement enters his tone. "She's good for you. Don't let her get away."
"Not planning on it."
The line goes dead.
I sit there for a moment, phone still in hand, processing what just happened. A decade with Cerberus, ended with a phone call over the Atlantic. No ceremony, no formal discharge, just a conversation acknowledging that this chapter is closed.
"So it's done?" Luc asks quietly. "You're officially out?"
