Thecottagesitsatthe end of a gravel road that winds up through pine forest for six kilometers. No streetlights. No signage. No indication that anything exists at the end except more trees. Supposedly Briar bought it after falling in love with the snowy mountains. I hate the snow. It’s too cold.
I park the rental car at the base of the drive and walk the rest of the way. Standard protocol for approaching a potential hostile. If Briar has set traps, I want to see them before they see me.
The night is cold, the kind of cold that seeps through layers and settles in the bones. Snow crunches under my boots. My breath comes out in white plumes that dissolve into darkness.
Four hundred and twelve steps from the car to the cottage.
The building is smaller than I expected. Stone walls, slate roof, smoke curling from a chimney. Warm light glows behind curtained windows. It looks like something from a postcard, not a safehouse for a Custodian fleeing assassination.
I stop at the edge of the treeline and wait.
Thirty seconds later, a voice comes from behind me.
"You're either very confident or very stupid, walking up a lit road with no cover."
I don't turn. "I wanted you to see me coming."
"Why?"
"Because if I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead."
Silence. Then footsteps in the snow, circling around to face me.
Briar Harrington is exactly as his file described: dark hair, sharp features, the kind of face that gives nothing away. He's dressed for the cold in a black coat and leather gloves, but the way he holds himself suggests the clothes are an afterthought. His hands are empty, but I can see the outline of a weapon at his hip.
"Jace Harrison," he says. "The Reaper. I've heard stories."
"All true."
"Even the one about the diplomat in Prague?"
"Especially that one."
His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. "Jagger said you wanted to talk. He didn't say why."
"Webb sent me to kill you."
No point in beating around the bush. Briar doesn't flinch.
"I assumed as much." He tilts his head, studying me. "So why are you standing here telling me about it instead of doing it?"
"Because Webb has someone I can't lose. And killing you won't get him back. Webb will kill him anyway."
"The asset." Briar nods slowly. "Elliot Rowe. I heard about that. The auction acquisition that wasn't supposed to happen."
"News travels fast for someone not in the circle anymore. Anyway. He has him in a facility somewhere in the city. Collar around his neck. Seventy-two hour deadline to produce your corpse or watch him die."
"And you came here to warn me instead of completing the mission."
"I came here to propose an alternative."
Briar is quiet for a moment. The wind picks up, swirling snow around our feet.
"Come inside," he says finally. "It's too cold for conspiracies."
The cottage interior is warm, simple, nothing like what I expected from a Custodian heir.
Disgraced and excommunicated heir.
