"Wanted what?" she asks softly.
Wanted to touch you. Wanted to keep touching you. Wanted to know what would happen if I stopped running from this,I think.
"It doesn't matter," I say to her. "What I want isn't relevant. What matters is keeping you alive, keeping this network functioning, defeating Konstantin."
"So I'm just a tactical consideration."
"No." The word comes out rougher than I intended. "That's the problem. You're not. You should be. It would be simpler if you were. But you're not, and I don't know what to do with that."
She's quiet for a long moment. "Maybe you don't have to know. Maybe we just... figure it out as we go."
"I've had six hundred years of life. I don't 'figure it out as I go.'"
"Maybe that's the problem." She takes a step toward me, closeenough that I can see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. "Maybe six hundred years of planning for everything means you've forgotten how to just... let things happen."
"Letting things happen gets people killed."
"Controlling everything doesn't keep them alive. It just keeps them alone."
The words land somewhere deep, in a place I don't examine. Because she's not wrong. Six centuries of control, and what do I have? An empire of blood and logistics. A compound full of people who follow my orders. And an emptiness so profound I'd stopped noticing it until she arrived.
Marcellus returns before I can respond. The moment breaks. Celeste steps back, her expression closing off.
"Let's continue," Marcellus says, oblivious to what he interrupted. Or perhaps not oblivious at all.
I should stay. Should observe, assess, and critique her form.
Instead, I leave. And for the rest of the night, her words follow me.
Controlling everything doesn't keep them alive. It just keeps them alone.
The intelligence reportspile up over the next two days. Each one is worse than the last.
Konstantin hits another operation in Decatur. Then one near the airport. His people are getting bolder, probing closer to our territory, and we're running out of ways to respond.
I spend hours in my study, staring at the map, looking for an advantage. We're outmanned. Konstantin has been recruiting for months while I've been focused on maintaining the network. Adirect confrontation would be costly, and he knows it. He's content to bleed us slowly, waiting for us to make a mistake.
Unless we force him to overreach first.
The thought surfaces unbidden, and I try to dismiss it. But it keeps returning, each time more fully formed. Konstantin thinks Celeste is a weakness. His people have been watching her, asking questions, trying to understand why I've taken such interest in a fledgling.
If he believes she's vulnerable, he'll move on her.
And if we know he's coming...
I pour myself a whiskey and stand at the window, hating the cold logic assembling itself in my mind. There are other options. There have to be other options. But the more I examine them, the more they fall apart. We don't have the numbers for a direct assault. We can't keep playing defense while he chips away at our allies. And we can't wait for him to choose the time and place of engagement.
But we could choose it for him. We could give him exactly what he's looking for and make him pay for taking it.
The whiskey burns going down.
I tell myself I'm still considering. That I haven't decided anything yet. That when I call the briefing tomorrow, I'll present it as one option among many and let the inner circle weigh in.
But I already know what I'm going to do. I've known since the idea first surfaced.
And I hate myself for it.
When she finds the danger I’m putting her in, she'll never trust me again. Whatever fragile thing is building between us will shatter, and she'll look at me the way everyone eventually does. As a monster. As someone who uses people and discards them when they're no longer useful.
