Shadows of Loyalty

Chapter 24

The sun bled in through the large windows of the chateau’s kitchen, casting golden light across the sleek countertops and rustic wooden cabinets. The air was thick with the smell of fresh coffee, eggs, and something savory Sasha was pan-searing on the stove.

Quinn sat hunched at the table, a steaming mug in his hands, eyes half-lidded, and a bottle of aspirin at his elbow. He looked rough—hair disheveled, bags under his eyes. Across from him, Gary looked worse.

Gary had his face buried in his arms on the table. He groaned every time someone made a sound above a whisper. Sasha had shoved a large glass of water in front of him, which he hadn’t touched.

"I think my brain is bleeding," Gary mumbled into his sleeve.

"It’s not," Sasha said flatly. "If it was, you'd be dead or crying more. Probably both."

Quinn gave a small chuckle, then winced. His head throbbed in agreement.

Sasha slid a plate in front of him—scrambled eggs, toast, and roasted potatoes. "Eat. It'll help."

Quinn gave her a grateful look. "Thanks. For everything."

"Don't get sappy on me yet, you're not out of the woods," she replied, turning her attention back to the skillet.

Calvin strode in, crisp as ever, in a black button-down and tailored pants, sipping from his own mug. He looked like he hadn’t touched a drop of anything the night before.

"Morning, degenerates," he greeted.

Gary groaned again.

"Sleep well, Quinn?" Calvin asked, a little too knowingly.

Quinn met his gaze and cleared his throat. "Fine."

Sasha, hiding a smirk, didn’t look up.

"Good. Because we may have a problem brewing," Calvin continued, placing a tablet on the table and flicking it on. He swiped through several files before turning it toward Sasha.

"One of our contacts from last night slipped me this before we left. He claimed it was 'hot'—said someone paid a lot of money for it to disappear."

Sasha picked it up, eyes scanning quickly. Her expression sharpened.

"Encrypted files," she murmured. "Looks like photo metadata and meeting logs. I can work on decrypting it."

"Do it," Calvin said. "And quietly. We’re off-book now, officially."

Quinn watched Sasha, admiring the way she instantly focused, eyes narrowing as her mind clicked into action. He found himself distracted again by the echo of her holding him the night before—the comfort, the warmth. He pushed the thought away.

Gary finally sat up. His hair was a mess and his face looked pale. "If anyone ever offers me drugs again, punch me in the throat."

"Noted," Sasha said, passing him another glass of water. "Also drink this before you faint."

"Why does everything taste like metal?" he whined.

"Because your body's trying to die," she said dryly.

They all laughed—except Gary, who winced like it hurt.

The moment felt strangely normal.

Quinn leaned back, sipping his coffee, watching Sasha as she worked. For a few precious minutes, it was quiet. Peaceful. But deep down, he knew this wouldn’t last. And from the look in Sasha’s eyes as she decrypted the first file, neither did she.

The calm never lasted long.

Gary took a bite of the scrambled eggs and paused mid-chew, his expression shifting from skepticism to genuine surprise. He swallowed and looked at Sasha across the table.

"Okay, I hate to admit this, but these are actually good," he said, waving his fork in her direction. "Like, really good."

Sasha didn't look up from the coffee she was pouring, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "I'm full of surprises," she replied dryly, setting the pot back down.

Gary groaned and rubbed his temples. "Don't remind me. My body’s still trying to figure out what the hell happened last night. What was that stuff?"

"An experimental designer stimulant. Heightens sensory awareness, lowers inhibition," Sasha said casually, sitting back at the table with her own coffee. "Also comes with one hell of a crash if you're not used to it."

Gary grunted, poking at his eggs. "Yeah, no kidding. I feel like a raccoon got into my brain and tried to rearrange the furniture."

Quinn chuckled quietly behind his mug, but Gary wasn’t done. He looked up at Sasha, squinting. “Hey… speaking of last night.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow.

Gary smirked. “Been meaning to ask… that dance. Where’d you learn to move like that?”

Quinn froze mid-sip.

Sasha tilted her head, unfazed. “Ballet.”

Gary blinked. “Ballet?”

“Yes.” She nodded simply, as if that explained everything.

“You know ballet?” he asked, clearly trying to reconcile the image in his head.

Sasha met his eyes evenly. “I’m Russian. Of course I know ballet.”

Quinn leaned forward, intrigued now. “Wait—so that wasn’t just for show?”

She gave a faint shrug. “The program I was in… they made us learn ballet. It was part of our training.”

Gary narrowed his eyes. “What kind of assassin training includes pirouettes?”

“The kind that turns you into a weapon.” Her voice had an edge now—cold steel beneath velvet. “Ballet builds perfect control, poise, balance, strength. Every muscle accounted for. Every move calculated. It teaches you to be graceful… Silent... precise. Lethal.”

The room quieted.

Quinn watched her closely. There was a glimmer of something in her eyes—faint, flickering. Not quite sadness. Not regret. Something more… hollow. A memory buried deep.

She continued after a pause, voice softer now. “They broke us down until nothing human was left. Then they rebuilt us… with beauty, pain, discipline, and death.”

Gary lowered his fork.

Sasha sipped her coffee, then stood. “Finish eating. We’ve got a vault to rob.”

Sasha drained the last of her coffee and turned toward the hallway, grabbing her black fleece jacket off the chair. She didn’t say a word, just tossed a quick glance over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Unconsciously, Quinn’s eyes followed her.

Gary, despite the pounding in his head, didn’t miss it.

He picked up a piece of scrambled egg from his plate and flicked it across the table. It smacked Quinn square on the cheek.

Quinn blinked and looked over. “What the hell was that?”

Gary pointed his fork at him. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“That look.”

Quinn furrowed his brow. “What look?”

“The look,” Gary said, mimicking Quinn’s expression in exaggerated slow motion, eyes dreamy and lips slightly parted. “You know the one.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” Gary cut him off. “It’s the same look you gave Stacy Peterson in tenth grade when she shared her gum with you. The same look you had when you took Gina Morgan to prom. And the exact same look you had when you met Alicia.”

Quinn’s smile faltered.

Gary saw it. His tone softened. “Look, man… I’m not trying to be a jerk. I’m just saying… you fall for the wrong women. Always have. And they always find a way to hurt you.”

Quinn let out a quiet breath, pushing his plate away. The name still stung—Alicia. Even hearing it felt like needles under his skin.

He clenched his jaw and sat back in his chair.

Gary leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “Sasha’s dangerous. She’s got more baggage than a cargo plane, and if she wanted to, she could kill both of us in our sleep without breaking a sweat. Hell, she almost did when we first met her.”

Quinn didn’t respond at first.

Then, without looking at Gary, he murmured, “Yeah… but she stayed with me.”

Gary shook his head. “That’s what scares me the most.”

Quinn sat in silence, Gary’s words lingering in the air like the thick scent of coffee and cigarette smoke.

Outside, the distant waves from the lake lapped against the rocks, steady and rhythmic, like a heartbeat trying to stay calm under pressure.

From down the hall, he heard Sasha’s voice—low, calm, speaking to Calvin about something he couldn’t make out. She laughed softly, and it sent a strange warmth through his chest.

Gary stood, rinsing his plate, shaking his head. “Just… don’t get too comfortable.”

Quinn stayed seated, staring at the table. The fork in front of him gleamed in the sunlight, still smeared with egg.

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t promise anything.

Because deep down, he knew Gary was right.

And yet…

He also knew it was already too late.