Chapter 22 Lex #2
“We did not, Lex. I promise you that,” said Viper.
“Unit 23 didn’t, either,” Typhon added.
“We knew he had expertise,” Viper countered, “but the full extent of his involvement with Orlov’s research was buried in classified files that even I couldn’t access without triggering diplomatic alerts.”
“As for Dr. McLaren,” Typhon continued, “her role in the original neural interface research was equally obscured. She was recruited for a black-budget project twenty years ago, before either of us held our current positions.”
Con’s expression remained skeptical. “And they both managed to maintain their covers all this time?”
“Compartmentalization works both ways,” Viper replied. “McLaren was a brilliant researcher, whose contributions to AI ethics were genuine. Her other work remained hidden because no one knew to look for it.”
The explanation left me unsatisfied, but arguments wouldn’t change what had happened. McLaren’s betrayal had permanently altered my worldview, forcing me to question relationships and motivations I’d once taken for granted.
Yet amid this darkness, something unexpected had blossomed. I looked at Con, his strength returning visibly with each passing hour, and recognized that despite everything—or perhaps because of it—I’d found something precious.
“When can we return to Blackmoor?” Con asked, clearly eager to leave the hospital.
“Transport is arranged for this afternoon,” Typhon replied. “Assuming the doctor approves your release.”
“He will,” Con stated with such certainty that even Viper smiled.
After they left, the doctor came in, confirming Con could go home. I helped him dress, ever mindful of his bandaged torso.
“Ready?” I asked, steadying him as he stood.
He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. “Are you coming with me?”
“If you’ll have me,” I replied, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “I’ve requested leave from MI6. Viper approved it without question.”
Mindful of his wound, Con drew me closer. “I want you at Blackmoor. Not just for a visit.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I’m not ready to be anywhere you’re not.”
The nurse arrived with the discharge papers and instructions for Con’s recovery—demands for rest that I knew he’d ignore as soon as he was back on his feet. By afternoon, we were in a private car, headed to Inverness airport, where Con’s pilot waited with the helicopter.
“Good to see you in one piece, sir,” Callum greeted us, his Scottish accent more pronounced than most.
“Mostly in one piece,” Con replied with a wry smile, his arm around my waist for support as we boarded.
The flight to Blackmoor offered stunning views of the Highland landscape, though Con dozed through most of it, the medications and residual exhaustion claiming him despite his efforts to stay awake. I watched him sleep, still hardly believing we’d both survived.
When we arrived at Blackmoor, I was taken aback to find a welcoming committee gathered at the castle’s entrance.
Mrs. Thorne stood front and center, flanked by Bastion and the other staff members.
Tag waited with Gus, Ash, and Sullivan. Even Ambrose hovered at the edge of the group, his usual distracted demeanor replaced by genuine concern.
Seeing him reminded me of Dr. McLaren’s absence.
Whatever her role in Labyrinth, she and Ambrose had been close.
I wondered what he’d been told, if anything.
I still didn’t know for certain whether she’d died in the explosion or, like us, had escaped.
Another thought lingered. Did Ambrose know about the secret life she’d lived?
Had anyone other than Bennett and Orlov?
Con woke as the helicopter landed, looking momentarily disoriented before recognition dawned. “Didn’t expect the welcome wagon,” he muttered.
“You’re loved,” I replied simply.
Mrs. Thorne approached first as we disembarked. “Welcome home, my lord.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she took in his pale complexion and hesitant movements. “Your rooms are prepared.”
“Thank you, Helena.” Con’s voice carried genuine warmth. “It’s good to be here.”
The others gathered around, offering support without overwhelming him. Bastion relieved Con of his minimal luggage, while Tag and Ash positioned themselves to assist if needed. Con waved them off, determined to walk under his own power.
“You look like hell,” Ash said with a grin that softened the words.
“Better than I feel,” Con replied.
As we moved toward the castle entrance, I fell into step beside Ambrose, my curiosity overcoming my hesitation.
“Did you know?” I asked quietly.
Ambrose glanced at me, genuine sorrow in his eyes. “No. Although I sensed she walked a difficult path. But don’t we all?”
Before I could press further, we reached the entrance, where Con paused, his strength visibly waning despite his determination.
“Perhaps you should rest before dinner, my lord,” Bastion suggested tactfully.
Con nodded, his arm tightening around my waist. “Lex will join me.”
No one raised a brow at his pronouncement—further evidence that the castle staff had already accepted what I was only beginning to fully embrace. This was where I belonged now.
As we climbed the stairs to Con’s rooms—our rooms, I corrected myself—I felt a sense of rightness settle over me. The pain and betrayal of the past week hadn’t disappeared, but they existed alongside this new certainty.
Con sank onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion finally claiming him. I knelt to remove his shoes, then helped him lie back against the pillows.
“Stay,” he murmured, catching my hand.
I slipped my own shoes off and stretched out beside him, careful not to jostle his wound. His arm curved around me, drawing me against his side.
“We’re home,” he whispered, his voice already thick with the approaching sleep.
As Con’s breathing deepened, I gazed around the room that would now be mine as well. The ancient castle walls had witnessed centuries of Carnegie history, and now, I would become part of that lineage—not through marriage, at least not yet, but through a bond forged in danger and sealed by choice.
Blackmoor called to something in me, just as Con did. The strength, the history, the sense of belonging—all things I’d sought throughout my life without recognizing them. Here, I could be both the MI6 analyst and the woman who had found love when she least expected it.
I nestled closer to Con, listening to his heartbeat beneath my ear. Whatever challenges lay ahead—and there would be many, including the lingering questions about McLaren’s fate—we would face them together. I had found my place, and it was here, within these ancient walls, with him.