Page 311 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“These operations require trust, which you have not earned.”

I crossed my arms, tone cold but measured. “Nais pas. Have I earned your trust, ma moitié?”

Those harsh blue eyes widened. Lana turned to Ansel, then looked back at me—marginally more amicable this time.

Freya’s eyes snapped to her mother’s. Her mouth parted before she schooled her expression, blinked, and turned for the door. I’d sell my soul to know what had just passed between them.

“To keep me alive? Yeah. Let’s roll.”

I smiled, wet my lips, and followed her out. My Paladins fell into step in my wake.

“The boy’s got balls,” Aren offered behind me.

Ansel gave a noncommittal grunt. The man was a walking myth—and I didn’t have time to interrogate him. He’d been an off-limits subject most of my life, yet he probably held answers the archives never could.

As we swept through the estate like a migrating flock, Freya broke down the op. Her voice was sharp, efficient. No hesitation. She rattled off their known security measures—earning sighs, a few curses, and absolute attention.

The Balaskas West Coast estate was buried deep in the Bitterroot Mountains straddling the Idaho-Montana border. Naturally. Where else would genocidal celestial fugitives take cover on this continent?

No one questioned her. Not even once. They trusted her research, trusted the vision. Trusted her. If everything went to plan, we’d be in and out before alarms tripped. If not…we were outnumbered and outgunned.

“Mom, I need you on the North Ridge for overwatch and—God forbid—cover fire,” Freya said. Right. Alana Callahan. The same assassin who ranked among the most lethal sharpshooters alive. Holy fuck.

“Dad, the entire place is warded. I need you planting gifts in the garage—disable their transports, have a ride ready for exfil.” He nodded curtly as we descended toward the foyer.

“Westerlunds are handling power and security disruption.”

“I’ll run backup,” Carr volunteered.

Freya nodded. “If you want overwatch, we’ll loop you into Tessa’s comms.”

He agreed with a grunt, and she continued, turning toward Aren. “I need you and Ajax ready to raise hell on the south wall if plan A fails.”

“Fake skirmish?” he asked, voice already smiling.

“Fake skirmish,” she confirmed.

“Not bad, kid.” He clapped her shoulder. She smiled—genuine and easy. I envied that.

“Contingencies?” he asked.

“Worst case, we brute-force it.”

“Excellent. The fun part.”

“For you, old man,” Freya said, elbowing him. “Some of us prefer the quieter route. Which is why Tessa overrides the security grid before lockdown, and Ansel sets off the⁠—”

“Those presents we discussed,” he supplied dryly.

“And if the diadem isn’t where you believe it is?” Aren pressed.

“We track it. Something with that kind of energetic signature won’t be hard to find.”

“And if you face resistance?”

“We ask nicely.”

He snorted. “If that fails?”