"You already said that."
"I'm trying to be welcoming. My fuck. Elliot says I need to work on my social skills."
Elliot descends the porch steps, his bare feet crunching on the gravel. "I said you need to stop looking like you're about to murder everyone who approaches. Different thing."
"Same result," Jace mutters.
Elliot stops in front of me, tilting his head up to meet my eyes. I'm taller than him by a good six inches, but he doesn't seem intimidated. He never has been.
“Nice to see you again, Jagger," he says. "We never got to know each other, but Jace talks about you. He says you're the smart one."
"I'm the strategic one. There's a difference."
"Is there?" His eyes are sharp, assessing. "Seems to me strategy got you on the run with a target on your back. Maybe you're not as smart as everyone thinks."
Jonah steps up beside me, grinning. "I like him."
"Everyone likes me," Elliot says. "It's a survival mechanism. When you're small and surrounded by killers, being likeable is the only advantage you have."
"That's dark, holy shit."
"That's honest." Elliot's mouth curves into a smile that transforms his face. "Come inside. There's soup. And whiskey. And a fireplace. If we're going to plan the downfall of a centuries-old shadow organization, we might as well be comfortable."
We follow him up the porch steps and into the cabin. The interior is warm, all exposed wood and soft lighting, the smell of something savory drifting from the kitchen. It feels like a home. Not a safehouse. Not a strategic position. An actual home.
I'm not sure I've ever been in one before.
"Sit," Elliot orders, pointing at the couch. "I'll get bowls."
Jonah flops onto the cushions, pulling me down beside him. Jace takes the armchair across from us, watching with an expression I can't quite read.
"You look different," he says to me.
"I haven't slept properly in weeks. I imagine I look terrible."
"Not what I meant." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "You look... lighter. Like you put down something heavy."
"I put down the pretense that I was still one of them."
"That's what I meant."
Elliot returns with bowls of soup, distributing them with an air of confidence that suggests he's done this many times. He settles onto the arm of Jace's chair, and my brother's hand comes up automatically to rest on his thigh.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. The soup is good. Better than good. Elliot watches us with the satisfaction of someone who knows their cooking is being appreciated.
"So," he says finally. "What's the plan?"
"We identified a Phase Two facility," I say. "Here in Switzerland. A fertility clinic outside Geneva that's connected to Project Omega through Kreiss's financial network."
"The same Kreiss you've been investigating?" Elliot asks Jace.
"The same. He's the financial backbone of the whole operation. If we can expose his records, we can bring down everyone connected to the program."
"And if you can't get to his records?"
"Then we go to the facility directly. Gather evidence. Documentation. Testimony." I set down my bowl. "The children being manufactured there deserve to know the truth about what they are. What we all are."
Jace is quiet for a moment. Then: "You're talking about exposing The Silent. Not just Project Omega. The whole structure."
