The next morning, the estate woke up to the smell of rain and expensive espresso.
I sat at the kitchen island, still in my pajamas, watching Maelle turn the dining room table into a war room. But instead of maps of enemy territory and weapon schematics, the table was covered in floor plans, heavy binders of bureaucratic regulations, and fabric swatches.
"If we are going to do this," Maelle said, slapping a ruler against a blueprint of the Council Headquarters, "we have to look the part. We can't walk in there looking like rebels. We have to look like management."
Adrien walked in from the patio, holding two mugs of coffee. He placed one in front of me and kissed the top of my head. He was wearing a soft grey sweater that made him look less like a lethal enforcer and more like a professo
