Location: Marrakech, Morocco – El-Fenn Safe House
The Moroccan air was thick with heat and whispers. Marrakech had always been a city of veils—of colors, scents, secrets—but now it became a chessboard. The team had touched down hours ago, blending into the tapestry of tourists and traders. But this was no vacation.
From the rooftop of the El-Fenn safe house, Damien scanned the old medina through infrared binoculars. "He's here. Third compound to the east of Jemaa el-Fnaa. Guarded, low profile, but it's him."
Nora joined him, dressed in muted linens that allowed her to blend seamlessly with the locals. "How do you want to move in?"
"We don't," Damien replied, handing her a burner earpiece. "Not directly. Not yet. We pull him out with noise."
Downstairs, Logan laid out gear on a weathered table. "Ava decrypted the coordinates Harold sent yesterday. He's expecting a drop—funds and data. We intercept it, we own the timeline."
Victor, now operating as tactical commander for this leg, nodded. "Marcus and I will take the eastern alley. If he runs, we push him toward the trap site."
Ava sat silently by the window, eyes closed, repeating a mantra under her breath. Her memories had returned in violent flashes, and every moment since Zurich had been a recalibration.
"They'll expect force," she finally said. "But if I go in first… he won't see it coming."
Damien considered it for a long moment. "That's a gamble."
Ava opened her eyes. "So is letting him escape again."
Nora stepped forward. "She's right. Harold thinks she's either dead or permanently scrambled. Seeing her alive will destabilize him."
The team agreed. And as night fell, Ava slipped through the souks like a ghost in her hooded silk shawl, headed straight for the shadow she once called family.
---
Location: Hidden Courtyard – 10 Minutes Later
Harold Winton stood under a crumbling archway, checking his silver pocket watch for the third time. Behind him, two mercenaries leaned on cracked mosaic walls.
He didn't hear Ava until she was five feet away.
"Tsk," she whispered, "You really should've picked a quieter graveyard."
Harold turned, eyes widening. "Ava...?"
She gave him a cold smile. "Surprise."
He fumbled backward. "You—No. You were gone. They said—"
"They lied," she said, stepping closer, voice like a scalpel. "Like you did. Like you always have."
Gunfire crackled in the distance. Logan's voice came over the comms: "Perimeter engaged. You're clear for extraction."
But Ava wasn't done.
"You experimented on children. Broke minds for a seat at their table. You think that crown means anything now?"
Harold's voice cracked. "You don't understand. I did it to protect—"
Ava shot him in the leg. He crumpled with a scream.
"I understand perfectly," she said. "You're not walking out of this city."
Damien and Marcus appeared seconds later, sweeping in from both sides. Damien looked at the wounded man on the floor, then at Ava.
"He's yours now."
Ava knelt beside Harold and whispered, "You gave them my life. Now I'm taking back what's mine."