Chapter Seventy-Five: The Answer

Adrian asked me again on a Tuesday.

We were in the kitchen. He was making dinner. I was sitting at the island, watching him move. He was precise. Deliberate. The same way he did everything.

"I asked you a question," he said. "A few weeks ago. About what you want."

"I remember."

"You didn't answer."

"I know."

He turned. He looked at me.

"I'm asking again."

I set down my cup. I looked at him.

"Why now?"

"Because we're running out of time. Because in two weeks, everything changes. Because I need to know if you're going to stay."

I didn't respond. I didn't know how.

He turned back to the stove. He stirred the pan. He didn't push.

"I've been thinking about it," I said.

He didn't turn around. He just waited.

"I've spent two lifetimes fighting. First against Julian. Then against Henry. Then against Volkov. I've had a target. A purpose. A reason to wake up every morning."

He didn't respond.

"And now I'm starting to realize that the fight isn't the point. The fight was never the point. It was just something I had to do to get here. To get to this moment."

He turned. He looked at me.

"And what is this moment?"

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"This moment is where I decide what comes next. Not because of revenge. Not because of a plan. Because I want to."

He set down the spoon. He walked to the island. He stood across from me.

"And what do you want?" he asked.

I looked at him. At his face. At his eyes. At the man who had stood beside me through everything. Who had waited. Who had never pushed. Who had never asked for anything I wasn't ready to give.

"I want to stay," I said.

He didn't respond.

"I want to build something. With you. Something that isn't about revenge. Something that's just ours."

He looked at me. He didn't smile. But something in his expression shifted. Something warm.

"Good," he said.

He walked back to the stove. He picked up the spoon. He stirred the pan.

I watched him. I didn't speak. I didn't need to.

---

The next morning, I found Daniel in the living room.

He was sitting on the couch. He was reading. He looked up when I entered.

"You told him," he said.

"Felix told you."

"Felix tells everyone everything."

I sat beside him.

"I told him."

"And?"

"And I'm staying."

He nodded. He didn't smile. But something in his expression shifted. Something lighter.

"Good," he said.

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"What about you?" I asked. "What do you want?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I want to stay too. I want to build something. I want to stop running."

I didn't respond. I didn't know how.

We sat there. The city hummed outside. The clock ticked.

After a while, he said, "I'm glad you're my sister."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"I'm glad you're my brother," I said.

He nodded. He picked up his book. He walked to his room.

I stayed on the couch. I didn't stare at the wall. I didn't think about the past.

I thought about the future. And for the first time, I wasn't afraid of it.

---

That afternoon, Felix called.

"We have a meeting," he said. "Claude Fournier. He's meeting with Volkov tomorrow night. At a restaurant in Marseille."

"How do you know?"

"We've been tracking his movements. He's been to the restaurant three times in the last week. Always alone. Always at the same table. Always at the same time."

"Then we'll be there."

"We're already on it. Dana and Marcus are in position. Leo is coordinating with local authorities."

"Good."

I hung up. I called Adrian.

---

He was in his office when I got there.

He was on the phone. He hung up when he saw me.

"Claude Fournier," he said.

"You heard."

"Felix told me."

"Felix tells you everything."

"He does."

I sat across from him. I folded my hands on his desk.

"The meeting is tomorrow night. At a restaurant in Marseille. We're going to be there."

He looked at me. He didn't blink.

"You're going to Marseille."

"I'm going to finish this."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded.

"Then we do it," he said.

I stood. I walked to the door. I paused.

"Adrian."

He looked up.

"I meant what I said. About staying. About building something."

He didn't respond. He just looked at me.

"I know," he said.

I left.

---

That night, I sat in my office.

I didn't sleep. I didn't try to. I just sat at my desk and stared at the wall.

I thought about Claude Fournier. About the restaurant. About the meeting. About everything that was coming.

I thought about my mother. About her journal. About her hope.

I thought about the woman I used to be. The woman who trusted too easily. The woman who died.

I wasn't her anymore.

I stood. I walked to the window. I looked at the city.

Tomorrow, we go to Marseille.

Tomorrow, this ends.