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Amused, despite myself, I waited for the plates to hit the table—eggs, toast, thick-cut ham, and hash browns. Lunchboxwas burning through the last of our supplies like a man on death row.

“Eat and listen,” I said as soon as he sat down. No preamble. No warm-up. “The plan’s layered. It’ll take coordination, patience, and most importantly—time.” I aimed that last word straight at Grace.

She met my gaze, steady and sharp. “I get it. I’m listening.”

Good girl.

“We’ve got names. Locations. Schedules. The gods of timing are finally on our side. Wecouldhit multiple targets at once with one well-placed detonation. But that would throw every red flag up the chain. They’d lock things down tight. No—we go surgical. Clean. One by one.”

I laid it out—how we’d move, who we’d hit, what methods gave us the best odds. The map lit up in my mind: multiple countries, multiple hits. Reznik was done, but O’Rourke was still breathing. And no illusion—we wouldn’t catch them all.

Some would slip through.

We were ready for that.

“Alphabet, you, Grace, and Goblin head back to base.”

Grace froze mid-bite, ham still speared on her fork. She looked at me, eyes sharp with protest, lips pressed in a hard line.

I didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. “You’ll get to Paris. From there, separate planes, separate paths. We’ll split up to reach our target zones.”

Her brow tightened into a stormcloud frown. She shoved the ham in her mouth and chewed slow—too slow. Deliberate. She was holding her tongue.

For now.

Fair enough.

“This is personal now. We divide the targets for three reasons. One—we’re easier to track in a group. Two—we’re all trained for solo infil, exfil, and wet work. And three—Alphabetneeds time to keep breaking down Reznik’s files. There are more names. More missing people.”

What I didn’t say: Grace had enough blood on her. More than most. She didn’t need to carry more.

Alphabet didn’t miss a beat. “If you send Grace to base with me, she’ll make sure we eat. And sleep.” He said it dry, like it was a complaint. It wasn’t.

It was a cover—an assist. A way to make it look like logistics, not protection.

Sharp play.

I caught Grace’s glance toward him. She’d understood. Of course she had.

“Will you wait for us to reach base before you strike?” she asked, voice calm, but eyes digging into mine like she already knew the answer.

Smart girl.

Good girl.

“No.”

The next part would hit harder. I braced for it.

“Keeping our heads down—moving target to target with zero trace—means you don’t call us. We’ll call you.”

Her jaw tightened. “Ihatethat.” She didn’t flinch from saying it aloud, and that honesty—raw, unguarded—almost cracked my resolve.

Almost.

“We don’t get the luxury of comfort,” I said, voice low. “You’ll survive.”

“Yes,” she said, lifting her chin, that familiar, firebrand spark flaring in her eyes. “If for no other reason than someone needs to be around to yell at you.”

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