"Officially out." No more Cerberus, no more ops, no more living out of safe houses. "Just New Orleans and figuring out what comes next."
"And a chemist who's probably going to make your life interesting in entirely new ways."
I glance down at Isabella, who's definitely awake now based on the way her fingers tighten around mine. "That's the idea."
She shifts, sitting up enough to look at me directly. "You really told Fitz you're done? Just like that?"
"Just like that." I brush hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "I meant what I said in Rotterdam. You're what matters. Building something instead of destroying everything. Choosing a life worth having."
"And what exactly does that life look like?" Her voice carries genuine curiosity mixed with something that might be hope. "Because I assume you're not planning to retire to a desk job and a suburban house with a white picket fence."
"Not exactly." I glance at Luc, who's watching this conversation with predator focus. Waiting to see if I bite. "But maybe something that uses our skills without requiring us to disappear every time an operation goes sideways."
Luc leans forward, elbows on his knees. "I've been thinking about going independent. Building something outside official constraints: private security, tactical consulting, intelligence work for clients who need discretion and results."
"Black ops without the government oversight," I say, processing the idea. "Interesting."
"More than interesting. Lucrative. There's a market for elite operatives who can handle situations traditional security firms won't touch." Luc's been planning this. Waiting for me to be ready. Patient predator. "Corporate espionage, executive protection in hostile territories, asset recovery, witness security. All the work Cerberus does, but we choose our clients and keep the profits."
Isabella sits up fully now, scientific mind obviously processing variables. "That's dangerous. Without agency backing, you're exposed if operations go wrong."
"True," Luc acknowledges. "But we'd also have freedom to refuse assignments that don't align with our principles. No more orders to eliminate targets because they're politically inconvenient. No more operations where success gets buried and failure gets operatives burned."
The appeal is obvious. Everything I'm good at, everything I've spent years perfecting, applied to situations where I actually control the parameters. Building something instead of just being a weapon someone else aims and fires.
"You'd need infrastructure," I point out. "Secure communications, logistics support, equipment acquisition, financial systems that don't trigger regulatory oversight."
"I've been cultivating resources for years." Luc's smile is sharp, dangerous. "Waiting for the right moment and the right partner. Someone with tactical expertise that complements mine. Someone I trust absolutely."
He means me. Luc's been planning this, waiting for me to be ready to leave Cerberus and build something together. A partnership between brothers who both know what it means to get their hands dirty.
"You'd really want me as a partner?" The question comes out harder than I intend. "After everything that happened in Rotterdam?"
"Because of everything that happened in Rotterdam." Luc's voice goes cold, absolute. "You executed a perfect trap under impossible conditions, eliminated a target that's haunted you for years, and extracted Isabella without casualties. That's exactly the kind of precision and control I need in a partner."
Isabella shifts against me. "And what about me? Do I factor into this hypothetical private security venture?"
"You're not part of the operations," I say immediately. Non-negotiable. "That's my boundary. You consult on chemical threats if you choose, but you're not going into the field."
"I can make my own choices about?—"
"I know you can." I cut her off, voice dropping into command register. "And I'm telling you that my participation in anything Luc's planning requires you staying safe. That's my line, Isabella. I won't do this work if it puts you in danger."
She studies my expression for a long moment, then nods slowly. "I can accept that. As long as consulting is actually valued and not just placating the chemist."
"Your expertise on chemical weapons and research applications would be invaluable," Luc says. "Threat assessment, client consultation, analysis of potential targets. All from a secure location where your knowledge gets applied without field exposure."
"And I could teach." Isabella's processing possibilities now, scientific mind working through the logistics. "Tulane has an excellent chemistry department. I could consult for you part-time while rebuilding my academic career."
The image forms clearly. Isabella at Tulane, doing the research she loves without Iron Choir hunting her. Consulting for whatever venture Luc's building, applying her knowledge to keep people safe. And me, using years of tactical expertise to build something instead of just destroying targets on someone else's orders.
It could work. It could actually work.
"Let's table the details until we're back in New Orleans," I say. "Figure out what this actually looks like when we're not exhausted and running on adrenaline."
Luc nods, leaning back in his seat. "Agreed. But think about it, Remy. Real autonomy, real control, building something that's ours."
The pilot's voice crackles through the intercom. "Beginning descent into New Orleans. Local time is late evening. Weather is clear, temperature mild."
