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I slide into the leather interior without acknowledging him, pulling out my phone as if checking important messages. The door closes with a solid thunk, and seconds later Alex is behind the wheel, adjusting the mirror to catch my eye.

"We’ve got about an hour until pickup," he says. "GPS shows the location is thirty-five minutes from here.”

"We should check in.” He reaches into the duffel bag sitting in the passenger seat and tosses a burner phone over his shoulder. I catch it one-handed.

"Good idea." I dial Oz's number from memory, listening to it ring three times before he picks up.

"Status?" Oz's voice is tense, clipped.

"En route to the pickup location," I reply, watching the scenery blur past my window. "How's everything on your end?"

"She's not fighting us anymore." A pause. "Z thinks she's planning something."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to ward off the headache brewing. "Put her on."

There's a muffled conversation, then Vesper's voice fills the line, deceptively calm. "Talon."

"Princess," I keep my tone light despite the worry gnawing at my gut. "I hear you're behaving suspiciously well."

"Just accepting reality," she says, too smoothly.

Alex catches my eye in the rearview mirror, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"That's...surprisingly mature of you," I say carefully.

"I've been known to be reasonable occasionally." Her laugh sounds almost natural.Almost. The line goes quiet for a few seconds. “Vesper, you still there?”

“I am.” Her voice softens. "Come home to me."

The simple request hits harder than I expected. "I will, princess. We both will. The next time you hear from us, we’ll be on our way back. Behave, please?”

"No promises," she says, and I can practically hear her smile. "But I'll try."

The line goes dead before I can respond. I stare at the phone for a moment, unsettled by the conversation. Vesper giving in this easily feels wrong.

“Don’t focus on what you can’t control. She’s Z and Oscar’s problem.”

"How far out are we from the pickup location?"

"About twenty minutes." Alex checks his watch. "Which gives us around fifteen to twenty to recon the area before the scheduled meeting."

The Range Rover hugs the curves of the coastal road. The wind has picked up, bending the trees along the roadside. I can'thelp but think this weather is a bad omen—nature itself warning us to turn back.

"There," Alex says, nodding toward a wooden sign half-hidden by overgrowth. "North Point Harbor."

He slows the vehicle, turning onto a narrow gravel road that disappears into a thick stand of pines. The suspension groans as we navigate the uneven terrain, branches scraping against the windows like skeletal fingers.

"Isolated," I observe. "Ideal for an exchange no one’s meant to see."

"Or an ambush," Alex mutters, voice grim.

The trees suddenly give way to a small clearing overlooking a dilapidated dock. Three weathered boathouses line one side, their paint peeling from years of salt exposure. The harbor itself is small, sheltered by a natural breakwater of jagged rocks. A single wooden dock extends into the choppy water, creaking and swaying with each wave.

"Charming," I mutter, as Alex parks the Range Rover behind the largest boathouse, concealing it from immediate view. "Nothing says 'legitimate business transaction' like an abandoned harbor."

Alex kills the engine and turns to face me. "I'll sweep the perimeter. You stay with the car until I confirm it's clear."

Alex exits the vehicle silently, easing the door shut with barely a click. I watch through the tinted windows as he disappears into the shadows between the boathouses. For all his tech genius and dry sarcasm, it’s moments like these that remind me—Alex is a weapon first, hacker second. Precision in combat, silence in the hunt. It’s in his blood.