I shower quickly in the guest bathroom, grateful for the clothes Margot mentioned leaving in the closet. I find a simple sundress in deep green, fitted but comfortable, the kind of thing that could belong in a house like this. When I check myreflection, the fugitive scientist is gone. The woman staring back looks rested, settled, ready to build something permanent.
The transformation feels dangerous. Like tempting fate.
But I'm done running, done hiding, done letting fear dictate my choices.
Downstairs, I follow the sound of voices and coffee to the kitchen. Margot's already at the stove, plating pain perdu with the same practiced efficiency she brings to everything. The familiar smell of chicory coffee mingles with magnolias drifting through the open French doors, underlaid with cinnamon and vanilla that makes my stomach remind me I'm hungry.
Luc sits at the breakfast table with his laptop, reading something with tactical focus. Remy leans against the counter with his coffee, watching me enter with an expression that makes heat coil low in my belly.
Possessive. Satisfied. Mine.
"Bonjour," I say, forcing myself to focus on anything except the way he's looking at me.
Margot glances over her shoulder. "Coffee's fresh… you remember where the mugs are, right?"
I pour myself a cup, add cream from the small pitcher on the counter. The first sip is perfect: dark, rich, with a hint of something earthy that I’ve come to expect from the flavors of New Orleans. Not quite chicory, but something else underneath, a blend Margot has perfected.
"You slept well?" Margot asks, setting plates on the table with deliberate care.
"Very well. Thank you for everything you've done to make us comfortable."
"You're family now." Margot's tone is matter-of-fact. "Remy's chosen you, and you chose to stay. That makes you a Pascal."
The acceptance is real this time, not grudging.
Luc closes his laptop. "Sit. Eat. We have business to discuss."
The pain perdu is incredible and served with fresh berries that burst tart and sweet on my tongue.
"This is amazing," I say after the first bite.
"Maman's recipe." Margot pours coffee for herself, joins us at the table. "She taught me everything about Creole cooking. Said food was how we preserve culture when everything else tries to erase it." She takes a sip of coffee, watching me over the rim. "She used to make this every Sunday morning. Said breakfast was the most important meal for family."
Remy's watching his sister with something that might be surprise. "I didn't know you kept her recipes."
"I kept everything." Margot's voice is sharp. "Someone had to. You were busy playing soldier then spy, Luc ran off to follow in your shoes and came home to run Papa's business. Someone had to stay here, run the restaurant and maintain the house. The fact that I tried to preserve it as some kind of museum is not something I'm proud of nor would our parents have approved of. I guess I just felt like changing anything was like erasing them completely."
The silence stretches, weighted with years of grief and resentment.
"I'm sorry," Remy says quietly. "For leaving. For not being here when you needed me. For making you carry that alone."
Margot studies her brother for a long moment. Then something shifts in her features, tension releasing by small degrees.
"You're here now," she says finally. "That's what matters. And you brought someone worth keeping." Her gaze shifts to me. "Are you staying? Actually staying, or just passing through until something better comes along?"
Remy stiffens, but I touch his hand under the table. This question is fair. Margot's been abandoned too many times.
"We're staying," I say, meeting her eyes directly. "Rotterdam is finished. Lazarev is dead. The Iron Choir's network is scattered. I could run back to Europe and hide in another lab under another name. But I don't want to run anymore. I want to build something permanent here with your brother."
"Even knowing what he is? What he's done?"
"Especially knowing." I don't look away. "I watched him walk into fire to save me. I watched him hunt down the man who'd been trying to kill him for years and end that threat without hesitation. I know exactly who Remy is, and I'm choosing him not in spite of it but because of it."
Margot's mouth curves slightly. "The Pascal family doesn't do anything halfway. Love, business, vendetta—we commit completely or not at all. There's no middle ground with us."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Her voice carries that same sharp assessment from yesterday. "Because we protect what's ours, and we destroy what threatens it. No exceptions. No apologies."
