“Didn’t I hear you say you weren’t going to waste time arguing with me?” I said, walking toward the stairs.

  Reaper moved to block my path. “You’re not going by yourself.”

  “It specifically stated to come alone.”

  “And I’m telling you that’s not happening.” As much as he knew not to bother arguing with me, I knew challenging him was pointless. “I know you, Amaryllis. You’ll wait until I’m asleep, then disappear. Leave some cryptic note about protecting me or having to do this yourself.”

  He wasn’t wrong. The thought had already crossed my mind.

  “I can’t ignore it. I can’t.”

  He pulled out his own phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling Nemesis⁠—”

  I snatched the cell from his hand. “No. Mercury said the coalition is compromised. What if you’re putting her in more danger? What if you’re putting all of us in danger?”

  We stared each other down.

  “I’m going, Reaper. Nothing you can say will talk me out of it. I’m also going without support from the coalition. If you can’t do this my way, return to England on your own.”

  “Fine, but we need to do this smart.”

  “Agreed. Commercial flights, tracking off, and no one at the coalition is briefed.”

  He raised a brow. “And when we get there, we approach this with clear thinking. Reconnaissance first and contingency plans for when things go sideways.”

  “They won’t⁠—”

  “With you? They always do.”

  Despite everything, I almost smiled. “Probably.”

  Within an hour, we were researching flights and booking tickets under false identities Reaper maintained for emergencies. The red-eye to Zurich connecting through Geneva would put us in Switzerland by midmorning local time.

  “Cash only for everything from here on out,” I said as we prepared to leave the town house. “No digital footprints, nothing that can be traced to the coalition or our real identities.”

  When he nodded, I checked my go-bag one final time. Everything I needed to disappear was in it, if it came down to that again.

  “I’m going to ask one more time if you’re sure about this approach?”

  “Sure or not, I’m doing it.”

  The drive to Norfolk International Airport felt longer than usual. Once there, we used all the protocols I had when I was on my own, not wanting to be found. We avoided security cameras as much as possible, paid cash for everything, and were on high alert for any signs we’d been followed or compromised. The late hour worked in our favor; fewer crowds meant fewer potential threats, but it also meant we’d be more visible if someone was looking for us.

  “Gate’s this way.” Reaper guided me through the mostly empty terminal.

  I kept checking my phone obsessively. No new messages from Mercury. The silence felt ominous, but I told myself she was being careful.

  “Any updates?” Reaper asked as we settled into seats at the departure gate.

  “Nothing since the location.”

  “That bothers me.”

  “Everything bothers you.”

  “Smart people stay bothered. It keeps them breathing.”

  Rather than respond, I kept my mouth shut because, for him, it was pointless. I’d meant what I said; nothing and no one could prevent me from doing this.

  The boarding announcement cut through our silence, and we boarded the plane.

  The flight seemed endless. Sleep was impossible with my mind racing, replaying everything learned in the past twenty-four hours. My parents had died in what was likely not an accident. Jekyll wasn’t some random British operative—he was my uncle, my mother’s brother. Mercury was connected to them; I just didn’t know how yet.

  Reaper leaned into me. “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Sleep?”

  “As if I could.”

  “If you have second thoughts, we can also get a flight out as soon as we land.”

  “Don’t,” I repeated.

  He reached over and squeezed my hand.

  By the time we landed in Geneva and collected our rental car, I was running on adrenaline and determination. The drive through the Swiss countryside should have been calming—rolling hills, pristine lakes, picture-perfect villages. It wasn’t.

  We reached Lausanne shortly after eleven hundred hours. The city sprawled along the northern shore of Lake Geneva, a mixture of medieval architecture and modern buildings rising in tiers up the surrounding hills. Under different circumstances, I might have appreciated its beauty.

  My phone buzzed with a new alert as we navigated through the city center. Hotel de la Paix lobby bar. Rear left table.

  Reaper found parking, and we entered the hotel. The lobby bar was dimly lit, with scattered leather armchairs and quiet conversation. I spotted the corner table immediately—two men with clear sight lines to all entrances. No Mercury.

  The older of them appeared to be in his mid- to late fifties, silver threading through his dark hair. His posture was relaxed but alert. His squared shoulders spoke of military training that had become second nature.

  The younger looked to be in his forties, with a compact build and dark hair cropped short. His eyes moved constantly—doors, windows, other patrons—never settling on any one point for more than a few seconds. Both men wore unremarkable clothing that would blend into any European city.

  I approached the table, my hand on my readied weapon while Reaper covered me.

  “Where is she?”

  The older man’s gaze swept the lobby. “We’ll take you to her.”

  “Proof of life first,” said Reaper.

  The second guy pulled out a secure phone and played a brief audio message. Mercury’s voice, speaking the code phrase, “protein bars,” with today’s date.

  “We’ll follow. Give us the coordinates.”

  “Negative,” the first man responded to Reaper without meeting his eye.

  I studied both men as they stood, weighing the risks. Mercury’s voice on that recording had been unmistakable, but everything about this felt like the trap Reaper had suggested it would be.

  “How long have you known her?” I asked.

  “Since Minerva’s inception.”

  The couple by the window was watching us now. The businessman at the bar had shifted position. Too much attention for a simple conversation.

  “We leave now or not at all,” the second man said.

  When I looked at Reaper and he gave a single nod, I told them we were ready.

  They led us through the hotel’s service entrance to avoid the main lobby. A black SUV waited in the narrow alley behind the hotel, engine running, its windows tinted dark.

  The drive took us away from Lausanne’s city center, up winding roads, toward what looked like an industrial area outside the city. Warehouses and manufacturing facilities dotted the landscape, most of them appearing abandoned or only partially used.

  I memorized the route. A gas station with security cameras. A construction site with heavy equipment that could provide cover. A small village with narrow streets.

  I glanced at my watch. We’d been driving for twenty minutes, taking us well outside the city limits. “How much farther?”

  “We’re almost there,” the driver replied.

  We turned into a gravel parking area beside a large concrete building that might once have been a manufacturing plant. No other vehicles were visible. No signs of recent activity except for tire tracks in the gravel leading to and from the building’s loading dock.

  As we approached the building’s entrance, every instinct I possessed started screaming warnings. The remote location. The lack of visible security. The way our escorts had positioned themselves to control our movement.

  “This isn’t right,” I whispered as the driver produced a key for the heavy metal door.

  “I know.” Reaper’s hand shifted closer to his gun.

  The interior was dimly lit, the industrial fixtures casting harsh shadows on concrete walls stained with decades of manufacturing residue. Our footsteps echoed as they led us deeper into the building, past abandoned machinery and stacks of empty pallets.

  But it was too late to abort. The door was already open, and they were gesturing us inside. The second man stood close behind us, his hand near his jacket. More men approached, patting us down and removing our weapons and phones.

  The first man motioned to a door. “She’s waiting in the next room.”

  We rounded a corner into a large open area. High windows near the ceiling let in thin streams of sunlight that illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air.

  And there, in the center of the space, I saw a figure sitting calmly in a metal chair.

  Not Mercury.

  Eleanor Aldrich looked up as we entered. She rose gracefully, smoothing her jacket, and smiled.

  “Hello, Amaryllis,” she said in a British accent she hadn’t used in the meeting with Vasiliev I’d surveilled. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you properly.”

  Not only had I signed my own death warrant, but I’d brought Reaper here too. I’d never regretted anything more in my life. For him, not for me.

  20

  REAPER

  The zip ties cut into my wrists as I tested their strength. Military grade—these bastards knew their business. The concrete floor beneath my seat was stained with oil and rust from decades of machinery.

  I cataloged potential escape routes. The loading dock thirty feet to my left with a heavy steel door that looked like it hadn’t been used for years. The service entrance behind Prism was reinforced metal with multiple locks. The windows were too high and too small to be useful. Ancient-looking industrial equipment was scattered throughout—some of it heavy enough to use as weapons—and six columns supporting the ceiling structure could provide cover if we got free.

  Two guards flanked the entrance, but they weren’t FSB. I’d worked against Russian intelligence enough times to recognize their bearing, their equipment choices, and their positioning. These men carried themselves differently. Private contractors or ex-military from somewhere else entirely. That detail gnawed at me.

  Amaryllis sat bound in an identical steel seat three feet away. Her jaw was set in that stubborn line I’d learned to recognize during our days of verbal sparring, and blood trickled from a cut on her temple where they’d been less than gentle during the takedown. Her breathing was steady, her posture alert despite the restraints. Pissed off more than afraid—which was exactly what I’d expect from her.

  “I do apologize for the dramatics, Amaryllis.” Aldrich smoothed her jacket with manicured hands. Her accent was crisp, upper-class British—not at all what I’d expected. “But you’ve proven surprisingly elusive, and this was the only way to ensure your cooperation.”

  The woman carried herself like she’d been born to command rooms. Designer clothing that cost more than most people made in a month. Diamond earrings that caught the light when she moved. A watch that could fund a small country’s intelligence budget.

  But there were tells if the observer had the right training—like both Amaryllis and I did. The way she held her left shoulder higher than her right—an old injury. Calluses on her hands that no amount of manicures could hide. Muscle definition in her forearms that spoke of continued weapons training. She might dress like aristocracy, but she was still an operative.

  “Where is she?” Amaryllis demanded, testing her own restraints with subtle movements.

  “Dr. Henning will be joining us shortly.” Prism taunted her with the alias. Aldrich moved closer to the older man, who’d been silent since we arrived. “Ember, would you ensure our other guests have departed?”

  Ember. I knew that code name from the intelligence briefs we’d received—he was one of Minerva’s council of twelve. The way Aldrich’s voice softened when she addressed him, how her hand brushed his arm in passing, made their relationship obvious. More likely lovers than colleagues.

  “Of course, darling.” His accent matched hers. Old establishment through and through. He gestured to the two guards, who left the room. Why would anyone consider us a threat, given we were bound and weaponless?

  Ember and the other guy, who’d been with him since the hotel, followed them out, leaving us alone with Prism.

  “You founded Minerva Protocol,” Amaryllis said the moment the heavy metal clicked shut. Her voice carried a tone that meant she was about to go for blood. “Was it intended as a criminal enterprise from the beginning?”

  Aldrich raised a brow. “Criminal? Silly child, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t I? I saw you with Vasiliev in London. I have recordings of your communications about eliminating Mercury. Audio, video, financial transfers—all of it.” Amaryllis leaned forward as much as her restraints allowed. “You’re working with Romanov, aren’t you? With Avalon? Had you with Argead too? A traitor not only to your country, whatever that may be, but to the world. You’re no better than any of the criminals you vowed to bring to justice. In fact, you’re worse.”

  A microexpression flashed across Aldrich’s face—too quick for most people to catch, but I’d been trained to read the signs. Pain. Regret. She was fighting not to react to the accusations, but Amaryllis had hit a nerve.

  “Is that why you disappeared?” Amaryllis pressed, sensing weakness like a shark scenting blood. “Because you couldn’t keep up the facade of being a decent human being?”

  Aldrich’s composure cracked for a quick moment, then she rebuilt it with visible effort. Her hands clenched at her sides, knuckles white with tension. “Enough,” she spat. “You’re as irrelevant as your opinions.”

  She pulled out a cell phone, and after a moment, she began speaking.

  “I have your precious Amaryllis.” She didn’t look away from us for an instant. “Along with her attack dog from the coalition. You have thirty minutes to show yourself, or they both die.”

  She ended the call without waiting for a response and tucked the device into her pocket.

  “There. Time to finish what we started.” Aldrich stood and left through the same doors the others had.

  “Fuck,” Amaryllis whispered, the word carrying all the weight of our situation. She twisted against her restraints, testing the steel frame’s stability. “Kingston, I’m so sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry.”

  “Don’t.” I used the word that had gone from annoying the fuck out of me to becoming a way of saying so much to each other.

  “I dragged you into this mess. I walked us both into exactly what you predicted.” Her voice cracked. “You told me it was a setup, and I ignored you because I was so desperate to find Mercury that I couldn’t think straight.”

  Guilt radiated off her in waves when she looked at me.

  “And Mercury’s going to walk right into this because of me.”

  The plastic restraints bit deeper into my wrists as I repeatedly tested them. They felt thick, designed to hold significant weight without breaking. The metal frame pressed against me—welded steel construction that wouldn’t give way easily. Breaking free would require leverage I didn’t have.

  But there were always options if you looked hard enough. The welds on my right armrest showed stress fractures from years of use—I could feel the slight give when I applied pressure. The air currents suggested ventilation shafts or hidden access points.

  “You had to come.” It wasn’t an accusation; it was a statement of fact. If my parents or my brother—or Amaryllis herself—were missing, I would’ve made the same decision she had.

  “There’s something I need to tell you.” I used my full body weight to move the chair I was in closer to her. It scraped across the floor, a noise that might make our captors come running, but there were things I had to say while I had the chance.

  “I made contact against your wishes.”

  She smirked despite the dire situation we were in. “As if I didn’t know you would.”

  “You want to know what else I think?” I shifted my weight again to test different angles of pressure on the restraints.

  “Sure.”

  “Something else is at play here. Aldrich’s reactions spoke louder than her words.”

  “I picked up on the same things.”

  “The way she said, ‘Finish what we started,’ felt off.”

  “Agreed,” Amaryllis whispered. “I still think she plans to kill us.”

  “Do you? Come on, you’re the one who reacts to feelings. Is that really what your instincts are telling you?”

  She didn’t respond for several seconds. “You’re right. This isn’t what it seems,” she finally said.

  “There’s my girl.” When I winked, she shook her head.

  Amaryllis looked away, but I could still see the pain etched on her face. “I’m still sorry. I never should’ve contacted you in the first place.”

  “Yeah? Did you really think I wouldn’t move heaven and earth to find you anyway? That there would’ve been a minute when I didn’t feel an ache deep inside me, knowing the only way to get rid of it was to figure out where the hell you were, then to keep you safe.”

  Her eyes filled with tears again. “Kingston⁠—”

  “I’m not done. When you opened that door in Montenegro, I knew in an instant that we were meant to be together. That kiss in Berlin? It’s what I wanted to do that night. Press you up against the wall, take my first taste, and claim you.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks, and she turned to face me. “I wanted you to,” she whispered so softly I could barely hear her.

  “I knew that. Wanna know how?”

  Regardless of her response, I intended to tell her anyway. “The connection between us was immediate. It hit me like a lightning strike. You felt it too. You knew that the second we met, nothing would be the same. It didn’t matter how much we fought it or each other; we were already bound together.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded.

  “I have to.” I leaned forward as much as I could, straining against the restraints until they cut deep enough into my wrists to break the skin. “I need you to know that falling for you was the best decision I’ve made in my entire fucking life. I love you, Charity. Whether or not you love me too won’t change how I feel. I’ll love you until the day I draw my last breath.”

 

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