–Jane–
I wore another woman’s face tonight.
Larissa Laurent—one of the agents assigned to the Paris lair case. I studied her for hours: the cadence of her speech, the lazy confidence in her walk, the way her fingers hovered before touching anything, as if everything offended her. It wasn’t perfect, but perfection isn’t required. Only believability—for a few minutes.
They were keeping the real Larissa alive. Sedated. Quiet. Useful.
The air inside the lair still slled of scorched plastic and ionized tal. The server room had taken the blast hard. I slipped on gloves and walked toward the wreckage, boots crunching softly against debris. I opened each server casing with thodical calm.
Toast.
Burned clean through.
Data reduced to carbon and regret.
Beyond repair. Beyond recovery.
I removed several drives anyway—habit, not hope—and sealed them inside a ziplock bag. Redundancy is survival. Then I glanced up, locating the hidden cara. Still active. Still watching.
Good.
I spoke in clipped, sharp French, pointing toward secondary locations, redirecting manpower. The cordon adjusted instantly. The forensic team finished their work and pulled out one by one.
That’s when my "partner" drifted closer.
He ntioned our date tonight. I gave him Larissa’s indifferent shrug. I knew his secret already—he and Larissa had been having an affair long before tonight. n always confuse discretion with invisibility.
He wrapped an arm around from behind. I didn’t react. Not yet. When his hand began to wander—and footsteps echoed down the corridor—I shoved him back just enough to look offended, not alard.
He stumbled, turned.
Another forensic stood nearby, fully suited, face hidden. When he spoke, I recognized him imdiately. One of mine.
Good.
All the evidence would be rerouted to us. Clean. Controlled. This particular operative was embedded deep in the forensic chain. He didn’t exist on any public record that mattered.
I crouched to adjust my lace boot, using the mont as cover.
"I’ll check the rest," Alain Durant said in French. His voice was deep, rough, authoritative.
I nodded and continued issuing instructions. Alain disappeared down the stairwell. Seconds later, he extracted the hidden cara, severed the lines, and destroyed the backup nodes without leaving residue. No trace. No echo.
He slipped the cara into my palm. I slid it into the inner pocket of my leather coat.
We exited together.
Outside, Alain leaned against the car, smoking. The night air was cold, sharp with rain and oil. He looked at like he thought he knew .
"Je conduis," I said.
He handed the keys.
I circled the car, unlocked it, slipped inside—mirroring Larissa’s habitual movents. I checked the mirrors, the dash, the seat alignnt. He leaned in, aiming for a kiss.
I turned—and drove a needle clean into his neck.
Precise. Silent.
His body stiffened, then sagged. I positioned him carefully against the car and fastened the seatbelt to keep him upright. To any passerby, he looked drunk. Or tired. Or careless.
I turned on the engine. Paganini filled the car—chaotic, violent, beautiful. The kind of music that understands blood.
I drove back to the holding site.
Alain’s eyes stayed open the entire ti. He could see . I let him.
They placed him in front of the real Larissa—still unconscious, bound, breathing steadily. I removed the mask from my face. My fingerprints were already accounted for. Artificial. Temporary. Gone by morning.
I pulled the needle free. It would take hours before he could move. Longer before he could speak clearly.
We left nothing behind.
Back at my rented apartnt, I bathed, dressed, and sat before my computer. Ro was flashing red on the screen.
Another infestation. Another cleanup.
Sophia and Aunt Ines were likely already en route. Efficient as ever.
Most of the lairs were being dismantled now—quietly, surgically. Soone had pointed the knife at us first. I still didn’t know who.
But I would.
There’s always a mole.
And moles always think they’re smarter than the trap.
–Damon–
I had fallen asleep with my son sprawled on top of just after my wife left. When we woke, the house was quiet—too quiet. No one was around. So, like a proper husband and father, I changed my son’s diaper, prepared his milk, and took him to the lair—no devices, no shortcuts. He loved riding the electric bike. I parked it to the side, lifted him into my arms, and pressed my thumb to the scanner. The door recognized instantly.
We headed down and found them still working, relentless as ever. Livana was focused at the Grandmaster table. Logan had control, steady and sharp. Up on the loft, Jorge managed another station, wearing a device that looked like sunglasses. Sowhere below, Yolanda was buried in the basent, unseen but felt.
"Hello," I said softly. "Do you need help?"
Livana glanced up.
"Mama!" Sky giggled, reaching out. Livana smiled, warm but brief, then mouthed one word at —water. I went straight to the cooler, grabbed four bottles, replaced Logan’s half-empty one in the cup holder, handed another to my wife, and took the empty bottle with .
I headed up to the loft and swapped Jorge’s bottle. He lifted a thumb in thanks without breaking focus.
Then I moved down to the basent and peeked in on Yolanda. She extended her hand without looking. I dropped the bottle into her palm. She caught it cleanly and tossed the empty back to . I caught it and dumped everything into the trash.
I ca up behind my wife and kissed the exposed curve of her nape. A chopstick hairpin held her hair neatly in place—practical, elegant, hers.
"Mama," Sky reached for her shoulders.
Livana turned slowly and kissed his head.
"Alright," she said gently. "Let’s go, Sky. Let’s prepare breakfast."
Sky waved enthusiastically.
"Bye-bye!"
I headed to the elevator and pressed the button upstairs. In the kitchen, I settled Sky into his high chair and handed him his bottle. He latched onto it imdiately, small hands gripping tight. I tied an apron around my waist and washed my hands thoroughly.
For my son, I made tomato soup—the way Jane taught . I also got the rice going. He needed a real al. They all did.
The fridge was stocked with ready-to-cook als, most of them labeled with notes from Mom Ines. I took out the breakfast prep—a healthy, protein-heavy spread for the team.
"Eggs!" Sky clapped when I finished five sunny-side-ups.
"Soup for you, buddy," I told him. He pouted, dramatic as ever, then went back to finishing his milk. I cooled his food, packed an insulated basket with burritos—easy to eat while working—and brought it downstairs.
Then I went back up to feed my son and eat with him. He liked feeding himself, bib hanging crooked around his neck.
"Mama!" He finally dropped his spoon and raised his arms.
I wondered, briefly, what was happening to our family company. To my underground businesses. Everything felt balanced—and fragile.
"Let’s bathe," I said.
Upstairs, I filled the tub and laid out his clothes for the day. Casual. Businessman-in-training.
When we ca back down, everyone was moving again, chatting lightly. Commander White had taken over control, and the team started stretching, loosening stiff muscles.
"You haven’t slept at all?" I asked as Livana approached us. She giggled when she saw our boy.
"We were working."
"I’ll take a nap," Jorge grumbled with a yawn.
" too," Yolanda added.
Logan looked exhausted.
"Logan," Livana said firmly, shooing him away. "Go and sleep."
She slid her hand along my arm and guided to a station where I could monitor shipnts and my operations.
"I connected your phone to this," she explained. "If anyone hacks it, the location will still trace here. You can answer calls, browse—everything."
"Wow," I said, sitting down with Sky still strapped against . "I was just thinking about work."
"And this," she added, sliding a small table into place. "Our mini laptop for my baby."
It was a custom toy—music, cartoons, soft lights. Sky started tapping imdiately, copying .
"I’ll take a quick bath," she said. "I’ll be with you soon."
I nodded as she kissed . My hand rubbed her lower back, familiar and grounding.
"Did you have fun all night?" I asked quietly.
"Mmm," she humd. "It’s done. California is down too. We’re back to normal operations."
"You’re incredible," I said, kissing her hand. "Intelligent. Masterful."
She giggled and nodded.
"I’ll see you later."
She stepped into the elevator. I turned to Commander White.
"Commander."
"Yes, boss?"
"They won’t work overnight again," I said. "Right?"
"That depends, sir. California is still unstable. But Sophia and your mother-in-law are nearby and already taking charge. Europe is covered by Jane and our top agents. Tonight should just be cleanup—relocation, transmitter checks."
"I see." I looked down at my son, who clearly missed his mother. "And you? Did you sleep?"
"Three hours. Enough."
I nodded.
I just hoped everything would hold. And whoever the mole Livana suspected—whoever had revealed the lairs so cleanly—I wanted them found.
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