My heart did something painful and bright at the same time.
I crossed the room slowly and crouched beside her again. “Can I see?” I asked gently.
She turned the paper toward me. It was a drawing of three stick figures holding hands. One taller, one medium, one small. The tallest had long hair.
“Maman,” she said, pointing.
The word struck differently this time. Not like a shockwave. Like an echo.
I swallowed and nodded. “She was very beautiful.”
Sabine nodded solemnly, as if this were an objective truth.
Behind me, I felt Kane shift closer. Aligning himself subtly with my position. With us.
With this.
And in that small, quiet kitchen in Paris, surrounded by crayon drawings and secrets, something rewrote itself inside me.
Rose had hidden a life.
But she hadn’t hidden love.
And whatever else I uncovered—whatever dangers still waited in the margins of her story—this little girl would not be collateral damage.
Not while I was standing here.
Not while Kane was at my back.
22
KANE
Iwasn't quite as shocked as Ella about the child appearing in that doorway.
But I was close.
Closer than I would have expected given everything I'd seen and done in my life.
Standing in that narrow Parisian hallway watching a five-year-old girl wrap herself around Étienne's leg with the kind of complete, unselfconscious trust that only children possess, hearing her sayPapain that clear, innocent voice full of love?—
It hit differently than I expected.
Differently than any tactical situation I'd ever processed or any mission briefing I'd ever absorbed.
I didn't know what to do with it.
What to say or where to look or what my role was supposed to be in this moment that felt simultaneously intimate and world-shattering.
Luckily for me, Ella and Étienne did all the talking.
I stayed back near the door, silent, just watching it all unfold.
Observing like I was on security duty instead of standing in a dead woman's secret family's apartment while her sister discovered she was an aunt.
The little girl—Sabine, he'd called her—avoided me entirely after that first curious glance. Smart kid. Survival instincts intact. She could probably sense something fundamentally off about me the way animals sense predators before they strike. That primal awareness children have before the world teaches them to ignore their gut feelings and trust appearances instead.
Instead of approaching, she just stared at me occasionally when she thought I wasn't looking. Big dark eyes—Rose's eyes, unmistakably—studying me like I was a puzzle she couldn't solve but knew was dangerous.
