Chapter 17 Jinx #2
I want to argue. Want to insist that I be the one to put Oswald in the ground. But Jagger's right. The Board is the endgame. Everything else is secondary.
"Fine."
"What about the Board?" Asher asks. "We hit the Ministry directors, then what? We walk into a room full of Custodians and announce we've murdered their colleagues?"
"That's exactly what we do." Jagger closes the files, pulls up a new schematic. "The Custodian Board meets beneath the old cathedral in Geneva. Ancient chambers, ten seats, the same room they've used for three centuries. The emergency session is scheduled for midnight, three days from now."
"And we're invited?"
"The Harrison family has always held a seat.
Our father abandoned it when he died, and the other Custodians have been happy to leave it empty.
But the seat is still ours by right. By blood.
" Jagger's smile is cold. "We're going to walk into that chamber, take our seat, and announce that the old order is over.
The Ministry directors are dead. Project Omega is exposed.
And anyone who disagrees can join them."
"You think they'll accept that?"
"They won't have a choice. Song's exposé drops the moment we enter that chamber.
Every major news outlet, every government agency, every law enforcement body in the world will receive documentation of their crimes.
The Custodians can fight us and watch their empire burn publicly, or they can bend the knee and maintain what little power they have left. "
"And if they fight?"
Jagger looks at me. Then at Jace. Then at Asher.
"Then we kill everyone in that room and build something."
The silence stretches. No one argues. No one objects. We've all seen what the Silent does to children. We've all lived with the consequences.
Some things are worth torching the world for.
"Timeline," Jace says, breaking the silence. "Walk us through."
Jagger nods, pulls up a calendar overlay. "Day one. Tomorrow. Marlee and Thiago fly to Dubai, establish surveillance on Oswald's penthouse. Jace and Jonah fly to London, link up with Song's contact. I stay here to coordinate."
"And us?" Asher asks.
"You and Jinx stay in Geneva. Rest. Prepare." Jagger's gaze flicks to me. "Say goodbye to Lily properly, if you need to."
Goodbye. As if there's a chance I won't come back.
"Day two," Jagger continues. "Teams in position. Final reconnaissance. Confirmation of target locations and security patterns. Radio silence unless there's an emergency."
"And day three?"
"Day three, we move. The Board meeting starts at midnight. Coordinated hits, take out the Directors and go from there."
"That's a tight window," Marlee says. "If any of the hits run long, the Board might get word before we're in position."
"Then don't let them run long." Jagger's voice is flat. "Clean kills. No dramatics. Get in, put them down, get out."
"And the evidence?" Thiago asks. "Song's documentation?"
"Queued and ready. The moment we enter the Board chamber, Song triggers the release.
Every major outlet will have the files within minutes.
By the time the Custodians realize what's happening, the story will be everywhere. Of course the blame will be shifted onto the dead Directors, but we have contingencies if the Custodians don’t comply. "
I stare at the schematic of the Board chamber. Ten seats arranged in a semicircle. Ancient stone walls. Torches that have been burning for centuries. The heart of the Silent, exposed and vulnerable for the first time in three hundred years.
"Who's sitting in those seats?" I ask. "Besides us."
Jagger switches to a new file. Photographs appear, one by one.
"Sterling. Old money, mostly legitimate these days. He's stayed out of the Foundry operations, focused on the Silent's financial holdings." The image shows a gray-haired man with sharp eyes and a politician's smile.
"Brooks. Runs the Silent's intelligence network. Eyes and ears everywhere. He knew about Project Omega but kept his hands clean."
"Holloway. Arms dealing. Supplies weapons to both sides of every major conflict. Profitable bastard." A younger man, forties, with a face that belongs on a yacht advertisement.
"Harrington. Media. Controls half the narrative in three continents. He's the reason no one's ever heard of the Silent and anyone that has is dismissed as a conspiracy theorist." Another older man, bland features, the kind of face you forget immediately.
"Rose." Jagger pauses on this one. A younger man, pale eyes, sharp features. Christian Rose. "He took his seat six months ago. Cleaned house when he did. He's not like the others."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning he might be an ally. Or at least not an enemy.
" Jagger closes the file. "The remaining four seats are the ones we're claiming. Oswald. Cross. Webb. Abernathy. The Harrison seat is ours, but we’re going to claim three seats, and Jonah can take his Chen heritage back.
That gives us four seats out of ten and then we leave one vacant in case we find someone worthy of taking it. "
"Not a majority," Asher points out.
"We don't need a majority. We need leverage. Song gives us that. Any Custodian who fights us goes down with the ship. Any Custodian who cooperates gets to keep their empire, under new management."
"And if they all decide to fight? If they'd rather die than bend?"
Jagger smiles. It's not a pleasant expression.
"Then they die."
The meeting breaks up after that. Teams dispersing to prepare, to pack, to make whatever peace they need to make before walking into the den of lions.
Jace catches my arm as I head for the door.
"Brother." His voice is low, meant only for me. "A word."
I nod, follow him into the corridor. The hallway is empty, afternoon light slanting through windows that haven't been cleaned in years.
"You're different." Jace studies my face with those cold blue eyes, the eyes of death itself. "Singapore changed something."
"Singapore changed a lot of things."
"The girl. Lily." He tilts his head. "You're keeping her."
"That's the plan."
"And after? When this is over? You're going to raise a child? Play house with your pit fighter?"
The words should sting. They don't. Not from Jace, who's never learned to soften his edges.
"Yeah. That's exactly what I'm going to do."
Jace is quiet. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifts.
"Good."
I blink. "Good?"
"Good." He reaches out, grips my shoulder. The contact is brief, awkward, as close to affection as Jace gets. "You deserve something that isn't violence. We all do. If you've found it, hold on to it."
"What about you? What do you want when this is over?"
His expression flickers. The mask slips, his face changes. "Elliot. I want Elliot. I want quiet mornings and boring dinners and a life where no one's trying to kill us."
"That sounds whack." Deep down I crave the same and he knows it. All three of us do.
"It is." He releases my shoulder, steps back. "But I'm tired of being afraid of the wrong things."
He walks away before I can respond. The Reaper, the killing machine, the brother who's never shown weakness in his life. Walking toward his forever, who is waiting with a smile and open arms.
Maybe we’re all learning to be human again.
Maybe that’s the whole point.
I find Asher waiting by the front entrance. He’s looking out at the overgrown lawn, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed in a way I rarely see.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Ready.” He turns, meets my eyes. “Let’s go say goodbye to our daughter.”
Our daughter.
Holy fuck.
I have a daughter.
"She's not ours yet," I manage.
"Jinx." He grins, that infuriating, beautiful grin. "She's been ours since the moment you took that knife from her hand."
He's right.
But for once, I don't hate it.