Chapter 10
REMY
Isabella's words hang in the air between us, sharp and cold as a blade.
We have a leak.
Luc sets his tablet down with deliberate precision.
Micro-expressions cross his face: calculation, anger, the particular stillness that comes before violence.
My brother has the same training I do, just different uniforms. We both know what a compromised op means.
Operatives die. Intelligence burns. Ops collapse because someone talked or got played or sold out.
"Walk me through it." My voice stays level even as my mind catalogs threats, reassessing every contact, every conversation since Prague.
Isabella straightens in her chair, shifting from scientist to operative. The transformation is happening fast, maybe too fast for her own good.
"Sophie DuBois arranged my cover for the East 70th event," she says. "European energy consultant, industrial chemical procurement background. Invitation was legitimate, backstory solid. But someone made me as Dr. Isabella Durand."
"How do you know?"
"By the time we reached the Knickerbocker, there was a spotter on the building opposite." Her gaze doesn't waver. "And the only people who knew my real identity at that event were in the Cerberus chain."
Luc leans forward. "How many people knew?"
"Sophie." I run through the security protocols. "Coordinated the cover. Fitz. And your New York contact."
My brother's jaw tightens. "I've used him for years, never had a problem."
"Doesn't mean he's clean now." I pull out my phone, running through what I need to tell Fitz. "Someone in that chain either talked or got compromised. Question is whether it was deliberate or if they got played."
Lazarev showing up in Prague wasn't random. The boot tracker means he'd been following me for weeks, maybe months. And if he's buying from the Iron Choir now, he'll be in Rotterdam when the compounds arrive. Two separate threats converging on the same target: us.
"So you've got a leak in the operational chain," Luc says quietly. "Someone's been feeding intelligence for longer than you realized."
I dial Fitz. The phone rings twice before he answers.
"Status?"
"We've got a problem." I put him on speaker. "Someone made Isabella at the East 70th event. Professional surveillance on the hotel within hours. Only people who knew her real identity were in our operational chain."
Silence on the other end. When Fitz speaks again, his voice carries the particular calm that means he's already three steps ahead.
"Walk me through the chain."
"Sophie coordinated cover and invitation. You approved the operation. Luc's New York contact provided logistical support." Isabella processes the implications, her expression tightening. "Someone in that chain either talked or got compromised."
"Sophie's clean," Fitz says immediately. "She's been running ops for me since before you joined. But your brother's contact..." A pause. "I don't know him. That's Luc's network, not mine."
Luc's expression goes dark. "I'll reach out, see if anything's changed. But I've run operations with him for years. Never a leak, never a problem."
"Do that," Fitz says. "But proceed as if he's compromised until we verify otherwise. In the meantime, I'm running an internal audit on every op touching the Iron Choir case. If someone in the network got compromised, I'll find out how."
Isabella leans forward slightly. "Mr. Fitzwallace, there's something else. Rotterdam."
"I'm listening."
"One of the buyer names from the East 70th event cleared customs yesterday under a Cayman shell corporation. Company traces back to Lazarev."
Another beat of silence. "You're certain?"
"Sophie flagged it overnight." Flat delivery. "Lazarev's not just after revenge anymore. He's buying weapons-grade compounds."
"Bloody hell." Fitz's accent thickens when he's processing bad intel. "If Lazarev's buying from the Iron Choir, that changes everything. He's got demolitions expertise, black market connections, and a personal vendetta against Remy. Add weapons-grade chemical compounds to his arsenal..."
Isabella sets her coffee down. She built the science. Someone else turned it into a weapon. And now her own work might kill thousands if we don't stop it.
"Rotterdam's the choke point," Isabella says.
"Brenner gave me the timeline at the event—we have a few weeks until the first shipment reaches buyers.
He said delivery is staged through Rotterdam.
Three separate shipments, each carrying a partial compound.
If they're smart, they're keeping them separated during transport, bringing them together only for final distribution to buyers. "
"Makes tactical sense," Fitz says. "Compounds are inert individually, lethal when combined. Staging through one location before dispersing to buyers across Europe gives them control and limits exposure. You hit Rotterdam during that window, you eliminate the threat before it scatters."
Asset options run through my mind—contacts, specialists, people who owe favors. "I need boots on the ground there. Someone who can confirm Rotterdam operations before we move in."
"I can reach out through Cerberus channels," Fitz says.
"No." I don't let him finish the thought. "If someone in the operational chain is compromised, using Cerberus assets puts them at risk. I'll use my own contacts—people outside the network."
"Good thinking," Fitz says. "Sophie's intel gives us the financial trail. You get your own people to verify the physical evidence."
Luc's attention stays fixed on his tablet.
"But Remy, listen to me," Fitz says. "If someone in the operational chain is compromised, you can't rely on established protocols. No Cerberus contractors for this one, no third-party logistics through our usual channels. You go dark, you stay dark, and you only surface when the job's done."
Going dark means cutting ties with Cerberus support networks. Means trusting my own judgment instead of established protocols. Means if things go wrong, there's no backup, no extraction, no safety net.
"Understood," I say.
"And Remy?" Fitz says. "Watch your back. If someone's feeding intelligence to both the Iron Choir and Lazarev, they're playing a long game we don't fully understand yet."
The call ends. Silence settles over us.
The kitchen feels emptier without Margot. Beaumont's has her for prep until late afternoon. We're alone with our plans.
Luc sets his tablet down. "I'm going with you to Rotterdam."
"No," I say immediately.
"Yes." Steel runs through his voice. "You're going into hostile territory with a compromised operational chain. You need someone watching your back who isn't the scientist you're trying to protect. Someone with tactical training who knows how to handle himself when things go wrong."
"Luc—"
"Don't." He cuts me off. "I helped you plan New York.
I've got contacts across Europe. I know Rotterdam's port operations better than you do because I've been running security logistics through there for years.
" His jaw sets. "You don't get to shut me out of this, brother.
Not when you're walking into a facility that could have Iron Choir personnel, Lazarev's people, and God knows what else waiting for you. "
Everything in me wants to say no. Wants to keep family out of the line of fire. But he's right, and I know it.
Two operatives on site gives us better tactical coverage than one operative trying to protect a scientist while handling demolition. And if Luc knows Rotterdam's port infrastructure, that intelligence could make the difference between a clean operation and a disaster.
"You follow my orders," I say finally. "On site, no arguments, no improvisation. Understood?"
"Understood."
Isabella's been quiet through the exchange. Now she speaks. "Three people means better coverage but more exposure. Harder to move undetected."
"Worth the trade-off," Luc says. "Remy needs someone covering his six while he's handling demolition. That's me. You identify targets, he destroys them, I make sure neither of you gets killed in the process."
Can't argue with the logic. Don't particularly want to.
"Fine," I say. "But we plan this together, all three of us. No surprises, no hero moves. Rotterdam's too dangerous for anything less than perfect coordination."
"Rotterdam," Luc says finally. "How fast can we move?"
"Day after tomorrow." Making the decision even as I speak it costs something. Not enough time to plan an operation that could kill all three of us if we get it wrong. "Gives us time to coordinate with my contacts and get into position. Any longer and we risk missing the window."
Isabella sets her coffee down, expression determined.
"Then we need to talk operational approach.
You'll need me to identify the legitimate research versus decoy compounds.
Chemistry isn't guesswork—there are specific markers, synthesis pathways, formulation details that only someone who built the original system would recognize. "
"You're not going into the field."
The words come out harder than intended. Not negotiable. Not up for discussion.
"We've had this argument." Steel runs through her level voice. "You can't verify the compounds without me. You bring back samples, waste time on analysis, potentially miss the real targets. I go in, I identify them on site, you handle demolition. That's how this works."
Luc barely conceals his amusement. "She's not wrong, brother. You need her expertise."
"She's a scientist, not an operative." I meet Isabella's eyes without wavering. "Rotterdam port security is tight. Armed guards, cameras, patrol schedules. And that's before we factor in Iron Choir personnel and Lazarev's people. One wrong move—"
"Then don't make a wrong move." Her gaze meets mine without flinching. "I trust you to keep us alive. You trust me to identify the research. We do this together, or we don't do it at all."