"Cross." Nathan replied curtly when he was out of earshot.
A clipped voice: "Change of plans. Queen family — gathering Saturday. High profile. HQ briefing in an hour. Priority."
"Understood." He glanced once toward the window where Ava sat, then ended the call. When he returned to the table his smile was back, but there was a line of tension at his jaw.
"You okay?" Ava asked.
"Work. I have to go. " He dropped his last words into casualness, but his eyes scanned the street as he left.
---
The operations room at headquarters smelled of coffee and old printouts. Director Keene waited at the head of the table, tablet glowing in front of him. Nathan took a seat and found four familiar faces already gathered.
"Cross," Keene said. "We've got you on this one." He tapped the tablet and a projection filled the wall with the Queen estate lit up at night. "Saturday. Private gathering. A lot of important people. We need eyes on the floor."
Keene nodded toward the others. "Callum Hayes will be your primary floor partner — security, crowd flow, quick on containment. Dana Voss runs comms and surveillance; she'll be your ear. Javier Ross covers tech and covert cams; he'll handle planting gear where possible. Mira Lang will be working the guest-side — social engineering and close conversation. You'll rotate, listen, and report. Minimal interference. Understood?"
Callum gave a short, no-nonsense nod. He was built like a linebacker but moved with calm precision. Dana, pen idly rolling between two fingers, didn't look up. Javier grinned — easy charm, but there was a quickness in his eyes — and Mira, small and composed, tapped a stylus against her wrist and smiled without warmth.
"Cover?" Nathan asked.
"Staff," Keene said. "Catering, service staff, support. You'll be inside and invisible. If you can get a clean listen to Monica or anyone with access to the family's inner circle, do it. We want patterns, not drama."
Dana lifted a hand. "We'll have a surveillance van on the perimeter and internal cams where we can. You guys are the human firewall."
Keene closed the briefing briskly. "This is high-stakes. Don't become part of the story. Dismissed."
As the others filtered out, Nathan lingered long enough to meet each of their eyes. Each one had a role and each one's competence was obvious. He tucked the file under his arm and felt, for the first time in days, the job settle heavy and real.
---
Ava put the sketchpad aside and picked at the strap of the dress Lena had insisted she buy. It hung on her wardrobe door like a promise or a warning — simple, understated, the kind of dress that made people look twice without asking for attention.
Her phone buzzed. Monica.
She answered, trying to keep her voice light. "Hey."
There was a pause before Monica spoke. "I'm not supposed to tell you this," she said, voice low and tightening in a way that made Ava sit up. "But you need to know—what Dad called a family dinner? It's not that."
Ava frowned. "Meaning?"
"It's a gathering. A proper Queen event." Monica's words were measured, reluctant. "Business partners, politicians, people with agendas. He didn't tell you because he knows you'd opt out if you knew the truth."
Ava's mouth went dry. "Why would he—"
"Because he wants you there," Monica cut in, softer now. "Because appearances matter. Because it's easier if you think it's a dinner." A quiet exhale. "I told you because I didn't want you to be blindsided. Just show up in something comfortable yet confident.Keep your head down. I'll be there. I'll make sure no one funnels the worst of the attention at you."
There was more behind Monica's words — protectiveness curdled with resignation — but she didn't stay to explain. She ended the call with a clipped: "See you Saturday."
Ava stood in the sudden silence of her apartment and tried to breathe. The dress that had felt like a small rebellion Thursday morning now felt like armor. The idea of walking into a room full of attention made her stomach drop.
She slowly made her way to Lena's room
"I'll need help with shoes."
" I've got you. No panics."
---
Nathan left HQ with the operation specs in his head and a uniform detail in his pocket: staff cover, black tie for some, crisp whites for others, but most importantly — a long night of moving and listening. He ran through contingencies like muscle memory: exits, blind spots, the names on the guest list that mattered most.
He stopped for a moment at the service entrance of the estate in his imagination: the marble steps, the lanterns, the flow of champagne and conversation. In his hand the file with the Queen family's schedule felt heavier than any folder should.
As the others began to file out, Nathan lingered, his thumb pressing absently on the corner of the file. Something about this gathering stirred an unease in him—but he couldn't place why.
---