Laura parted ways with Coraline Penrose with a sense of unexpected appreciation—something she never thought she’d feel for a suit from Toronto.

She had walked into this interview expecting another polished, corporate mouthpiece, the kind of legal consultant who spoke in carefully crafted statements, danced around the truth, and prioritized the law over actual justice.

But Coraline had been… different.

She had a sense of justice that Laura could respect—or at least, she seemed to.

Not that Laura trusted lawyers.

She had exposed too many of them, seen too many hidden agendas tucked behind their airtight arguments and carefully chosen words. She had dug up corruption in courtrooms, exposed legal loopholes that let criminals walk free, and called out more than a few "esteemed professionals" who had been just as dirty as the men they defended.

And yet… Coraline Penrose didn’t quite fit that mold.

She was careful with her words, certainly, but there was something behind them—a belief in justice that wasn’t just theoretical, a weight in her tone that spoke of something deeper than professional interest.

It made Laura curious.

And, despite herself, maybe just a little intrigued.

Laura leaned into the thought as she made her way back to her office, turning it over in her mind like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit but still felt worth keeping.

Maybe I should have lunch with her again.

It wasn’t often she met someone new outside her usual circles—and certainly not someone who could hold an interesting conversation about justice without talking in empty platitudes.

By the time she reached her office, her decision was made: she was going to lock the door, pretend to work, and steal a much-needed nap before the real work of the night began.

That was the plan, anyway.

But as soon as she sank into her office chair, her body relaxing against the familiar creak of the worn leather, her mind refused to shut off.

Instead, she found herself lingering on Coraline.

Laura didn't have many friends—not real ones, at least.

Between her work, her vigilante life, and Jean, there wasn’t much space for anyone else.

And Jean…

She sighed, rubbing her temples at the thought of him.

She loved him, truly, but his jealousy was exhausting.

She knew why—knew that his prior relationship had scarred him, that he was afraid of losing her, that every time she so much as spent too long talking to another man, he would get that edge in his tone, that flash in his eyes.

She understood it.

But sometimes, she wondered—was it really about fear of losing her?

Or was it about control?

That thought sat uncomfortably in her chest, too heavy to ignore but too complicated to fully confront.

She let out another slow sigh, forcing herself to close her eyes, settle in, and try to rest.

She would deal with everything else later.

***

Coraline left the café, her thoughts still turning over the conversation with Laura Locke.

She wasn’t particularly fond of the press—not most of them, anyway.

Too many journalists were bought and paid for, their stories massaged to fit a corporate narrative. Others chased headlines instead of truth, sensationalizing whatever would get the most outrage clicks, throwing people under the bus or, worse, painting villains as misunderstood heroes.

Real journalistic integrity?

In her opinion, it was rare.

But Laura…

Laura seemed different.

She had an edge, the kind that suggested she actually cared about the truth—not just the story, but what it meant, what it could change, who it could expose.

That was interesting.

Dangerous, but interesting.

Coraline let out a slight yawn, stretching as she made her way back to her hotel.

A few hours of shut-eye before tonight’s work was starting to feel like the best plan she’d had all day.

***

Elsewhere, Jean Bellerose, known in his darker vigilante persona as Monsieur Minuit, had already woken up and was hard at work in the quiet solitude of the townhouse he shared with Laura.

The soft hum of his computer filled the room as he sat hunched over, his eyes scanning through the data in front of him. His brow furrowed as he meticulously reviewed the information, the paper trail in front of him growing more damning by the second.

It was clear.

This was deep—especially for the law firm. The connection between them and the Italian Mafia was almost undeniable now. The paperwork, the financial transactions, it all painted a picture of just how entwined they were. A business arrangement that went far beyond legal counsel and spilled into the underworld.

The Alfonso Ruso data, however, didn’t yield much of immediate use. There was no solid lead here, just scraps—faint traces of movement that pointed to dead ends.

Frustrated but not deterred, Jean’s focus shifted when he heard the buzz of one of his burner phones. His fingers quickly reached for it, flipping it open with practiced ease.

The voice on the other end spoke in hurried tones, and Jean listened intently, nodding slowly as he processed the information.

"Most solid lead we’ve gotten since this started," he murmured to the voice, his tone measured but clearly acknowledging the importance of the intel. He paused, a sigh escaping his lips. "Yeah… we’ll intercept tonight."

His voice dropped slightly as he continued. "The fox will probably be there too, as much as I'd rather she wasn’t… right. Thanks for the intel."

He snapped the phone shut with a quiet click and let out a slow breath, his eyes drifting across the room.

They landed on the photo frame on the desk—a picture of Laura smiling, her bright eyes full of life, her genuine warmth captured forever in that moment.

He stared at the photo for a long time, and then, as if ashamed of her smile, he slowly turned the frame around. The empty back of the frame faced him now.

The image of her happiness was gone from his sight. But it still lingered in his mind, gnawing at him.

The battle that lay ahead wasn’t just against the criminals of Montreal.

It was also against himself.

***

When Laura arrived, she found Jean at the computer, his focus intensely fixed on the screen as he took notes and scrolled through the data.

She moved quietly, her steps light as she crept up behind him, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Looping her arms around his neck, she gave him a quick, affectionate kiss on his cheek.

"Find anything useful, love?" she asked, her voice soft but warm, laced with the familiar intimacy of someone who knew him well enough to sense the weight on his shoulders.

Jean didn’t turn around right away, but he did respond, his voice low and distant, the tension in it betraying his thoughts.

"Nothing of too much use about Alfonso Ruso," he muttered, his fingers still hovering over the keys as he spoke. "Some details related to his offshore accounts, mostly."

Laura could hear the faint frustration in his tone, the hint of disappointment. She knew how hard he worked for every scrap of information, and it bothered her to see him caught up in dead ends.

But then, as if to shake off the weight of that frustration, he added, "I got a call from one of my contacts, though. Might be able to intercept the hitter the Irish have gunning for him. So that’s something."

Laura’s arms stayed around his neck, her fingers gently massaging the back of his head as she pressed a kiss to his temple.

"That’s progress," she said, her voice light, but genuine. "We’ll get him."

She could feel the tension slowly easing from his body as he relaxed into her touch, though she knew it wasn’t all gone yet. There was a lingering wariness in him that came with the weight of their work, and especially the danger that lurked with every step they took.

Jean exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders still apparent. He sat back slightly, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, but his focus had drifted.

"Sooner Vulpes is out of my city, the happier I’ll be," he muttered under his breath.

Laura caught the tone instantly, the edge to it—the possessiveness that often surfaced when Jean felt protective over Montreal. She wasn’t fond of hearing it again, especially since he had referred to it as "his" city once more, but she let it slide.

He was stressed, the weight of their work pulling at him more than he liked to admit. She knew it wasn’t about the city itself, but about the invasion of their space, their work, by someone like Vulpes—someone with different methods, someone who didn’t follow the same rules Jean held so tightly to.

"She just wants to see a man with blood on his hands put behind bars, Jean," Laura replied gently, her hands still resting at the back of his neck. She knew his frustration, his reservations, but she also knew the truth of it. "She doesn’t want to take anything away from our work."

Jean’s jaw tightened as he turned slightly, looking at her over his shoulder, but Laura could see the flicker of understanding in his eyes, buried beneath the layers of his own conflict.

"She’s not here to undermine us, Jean," she added softly, her fingers brushing over his skin in a soothing motion. "She’s just fighting for the same thing."

Jean’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, but the wariness in his eyes still lingered. He wasn’t ready to trust Vulpes—not fully. And in that moment, Laura knew it wasn’t just about the woman; it was about the fact that he had to share control.

For him, that was always the hardest part.

Jean’s jaw tightened, a familiar, almost instinctual reaction, and his voice was laced with frustration when he spoke again.

"I don’t like the way you’re warming up to her, or the way she looks at you."

Laura’s stomach dropped at the words, and for a split second, she was frozen in place, the sharp sting of irritation cutting through her. She had been open with Jean from the start about her sexuality, hoping for understanding and acceptance.

But this?

This felt like a rejection of that trust, an unwelcome intrusion into something that should have been off-limits.

Jean knew she was bisexual, knew that women were part of her attraction—and yet here he was, dwelling on it again. Jealousy, creeping back into a space where it didn’t belong.

Laura exhaled sharply, her patience thinning. This was, by far, the most irritating thing he could latch onto.

"Jean," she started, her voice low but edged with a tired frustration. "You’re doing it again."

She wanted to say more, to lay it all out, but instead, she just took another deep breath, trying to calm herself before her anger boiled over.

"This—this isn’t about her, or me, or us. You can’t keep throwing your jealousy around like this. We talked about this before, and you agreed it wasn’t a problem."

Her voice dropped a little, quiet but firm as she added, "Why is it now? Why is it her?"

She wasn’t giving in this time—not when this wasn’t something she should have to defend.

Jean stood slowly, turning to face her fully, his posture tense, the lines of his face hardening. His hazel eyes locked on Laura’s dark brown orbs, the intensity behind them sharp, as if challenging her to explain herself.

"What right does she have to come here? Stick her nose in our business and then look at you like that?"

Laura felt a surge of anger, but she kept herself in check, letting out a slow breath, refusing to let him pull her into a confrontation she didn’t want.

She stood her ground, her voice calm but steely, each word measured and controlled.

"Look at me like what? A potential friend? A fellow professional? An ally in the fight against injustice?" She paused, the edge in her voice sharpening slightly. "Do be more specific, would you, Jean?"

Her eyes met his, unwavering, as she gave him a look that was both piercing and firm, daring him to be honest with himself.

He had no reason to distrust Vulpes. Not like this. Not when everything about their work was aligned, and the only thing truly out of place was his jealousy.

Laura could feel the heat of the moment building, but she refused to let it overtake her. This wasn’t about Vulpes—it was about Jean’s own insecurities. And she knew, if she allowed it to get to her, it would just undermine everything they had worked for—as partners, as equals.

"What is this really about, Jean?" she asked softly, but with an unmistakable strength behind it. "What do you fear? That she’s taking something from you? Or that you’re not enough?"

Her voice didn’t falter. It was as if she was trying to reach him, to make him see the truth of what was happening, before it consumed them both.

Jean held his ground, his gaze unwavering as he shifted slightly, guiding Laura’s attention toward the screen of his computer. The articles displayed there were inflammatory, filled with accusations, labels, and a narrative that painted the Vulpes in a very different light.

They weren’t the stories of a vigilante hero—but of a thief, a criminal, and someone willing to cross any line to get what she wanted.

"She’s a damn thief, Laura," Jean said in a measured voice, his tone colder than before, more certain, as though these articles had just solidified his doubts. "Not a hero."

Laura’s gaze flickered over the screen, the damning headlines leaping out at her. The Vulpes, accused of stealing dangerous technology, helping herself to stolen goods, and being an outlaw, not someone working toward justice but feeding her own ambition.

It stung.

But as much as the articles bothered her, Laura couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a deflection, a clever way for Jean to avoid the deeper conversation they needed to have. It was easy to point fingers at the Vulpes—after all, she wasn’t playing by anyone’s rules. She was a wildcard, and in Jean’s world, there was nothing more dangerous than a wildcard.

But even so, this felt like more than just an argument about Vulpes.

It felt personal.

Laura exhaled sharply, not wanting to back down, but also not wanting to escalate the tension unnecessarily.

"Jean," she said, her voice still steady, though the weight of the conversation settled in the air between them. "You can’t ignore the bigger picture here."

Her eyes met his, searching for any sign that he was hearing her.

"I’m not saying she’s a saint," Laura continued, "but you know as well as I do that criminals aren’t always black and white. There’s a lot of gray in between, and sometimes the lines are drawn where you least expect them."

She stepped closer, her expression softening as she added, "I’m not here to defend her actions, Jean. But you can’t let your distrust of her cloud everything else. You don’t know her like I do."

She paused, feeling the weight of the moment settle. "She might be unconventional, but she’s been fighting for justice—just like us. And right now, we need her. This isn’t about her methods, it’s about what’s at stake."

Jean’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, Laura thought he might snap back, but then the tension in his posture shifted. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for the briefest of seconds, she saw a flicker of uncertainty behind his eyes.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he turned back to the computer, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure whether to further engage or withdraw again.

But Laura knew. He was struggling, torn between the man he wanted to be—someone who trusted and stood by her—and the man who had seen too much darkness to accept it easily.

Jean took a slow, deliberate breath, the tension of the moment still thick in the air. His gaze remained focused on the data before him, but there was a subtle shift in his tone, a calmness settling over him before he spoke again.

"Babette Lavelle."

Laura’s stomach tightened at the name. It wasn’t just any name—it was the name of one of their most dangerous adversaries, a criminal mastermind whose reputation made even the hardest criminals in Montreal take a step back. Babette Lavelle, also known as La Muse, was untouchable, a figure who operated from the shadows with the kind of grace and cunning that made her nearly impossible to corner.

She was a woman who had outwitted the system, manipulated alliances, and played people like chess pieces, all while remaining just out of reach of the law.

And now Jean was bringing her up.

It felt like a comparison, and Laura instantly understood the implication behind his words.

"What are you getting at?" she asked, her voice slightly sharper, though she tried to keep it neutral.

Jean’s expression softened, but there was something deliberate about his next words, as if he had calculated every move in this conversation.

"I’m just saying, Laura, that Vulpes seems to fit that same mold. She’s a thief, no different from someone like Babette, manipulating and using people to get what she wants. You’ve seen it yourself, haven’t you?"

Laura’s jaw tightened, but she kept her voice steady, even though she felt a familiar rush of heat building.

"Jean, I’m not saying she’s a saint," she replied, trying to keep her tone controlled. "But she’s not like La Muse. Vulpes is… she’s fighting for justice, not to collect things."

Jean didn’t seem to acknowledge that distinction, his gaze unwavering, and his tone softened, though it carried something else beneath the surface.

"Is she?" Jean’s voice was soft, almost too calm, too easy. His eyes flickered to the side for just a moment, the smallest sign of his thoughts shifting. "Is that what you think? Or is it just the way she’s playing you? What if she’s here to collect the bounty on Ruso? Or using it as a smoke screen for a heist?"

Laura’s chest tightened, the air in the room suddenly feeling heavy. She knew the Vulpes—had spent enough time with her to see the layers beneath the mask, to recognize the genuine interest in what she was doing. But Jean was right about one thing. There were times when the Vulpes seemed more like an agent of chaos, a figure who could easily manipulate a situation to her benefit if it suited her cause.

But that was not the same thing as the way Babette Lavelle had behaved—a woman who used flirtation and manipulation as weapons, a woman whose aggressiveness and desire had left Laura feeling flustered more than once. It was hard not to be flustered by Babette—she was dangerous in a way that left you questioning your own reactions.

Still, the comparison stung.

"You’re really going to compare her to La Muse?" Laura’s voice was sharp, more defensive than she intended, but the accusation had landed. The weight of it sat heavy in her chest.

Jean gave a small, almost dismissive shrug, his expression unreadable, but the edge in his voice wasn’t missed.

"Why not? She’s a known thief, just like her. And I’ve seen the way she looks at you. I think she’s got a way of getting under your skin, a bit like Babette, don’t you think?"

Laura’s heart skipped, and the feeling wasn’t just anger—it was the kind of frustration that pushed her to the edge.

"Jean," she snapped, unable to stop the sting of her words, "this isn’t about me. This isn’t about the way you seem to think the Vulpes looks at me. You’re letting your jealousy get in the way of what’s actually happening."

Her breath was quick,  she stepped forward with her hands gripping the edge of the desk to keep herself grounded. "She’s not La Muse. You don’t get to make that comparison just because she’s a woman, or because she’s got her own way of doing things."

Jean’s gaze hardened, but Laura didn’t back down, refusing to let the conversation be derailed by his jealousy over something that wasn’t real.

"I’m trying to focus on the job here, Jean. And if you want to keep turning this into something it’s not, you’ll just end up losing the one person who’s on your side in all of this."

Her words hung in the air, heavy, unresolved.

Jean took a deep breath, the tension in his shoulders relaxing just slightly. His expression softened, his voice calm—almost too calm—as he shifted gears.

"Fine," he said, the words almost a sigh of concession. "You’re right. But just promise me, Laura," his eyes met hers with a steady intensity, "you’ll take the Vulpes with a grain of salt. You’re too smart to let a thief pull the wool over your eyes."

It was a calm, logical tone, one that should have seemed reassuring.

But there was something insidious in the way he framed it, something subtle in the way he dismissed her perspective, as if all of her reasoned judgment could be clouded by the mere presence of someone like Vulpes.

The implication wasn’t lost on Laura. "Too smart to let a thief pull the wool over my eyes."

It felt like Jean was trying to frame her as naïve, trying to make her doubt her own ability to read people, to trust her instincts.

The words stung, even though he wrapped them in a veneer of calm.

"I’ve never let anyone pull the wool over my eyes, Jean." Her voice was quiet, but firm. She didn’t need his protection from the Vulpes—or anyone else.

Still, she swallowed her rising irritation, knowing this wasn’t the time to escalate things further. "I’ll keep an eye on her, just like I keep an eye on everyone. You don’t have to worry about me."

But in the back of her mind, something shifted, a quiet struggle between the nagging feeling that she knew exactly what Jean was doing—that he was gaslighting her—and the refusal to accept that the man she loved, the man who was her partner in both life and fighting crime, could actually be doing that to her.

No. No, she thought.

He wasn’t like that.

He was worried—his worry was fueling his stress, making him act this way. She knew it in her heart. He cared about her. He cared about their work.

Still, the frustration lingered, like a tight knot in her chest.

Jean’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts.

"We’ve only just met her, Laura. I know you think she might be your friend, but you and I both know we have to be careful about passing judgment too quickly."

He was still speaking in that calm, controlled, logical tone—the kind that, while measured, made her feel as though he wasn’t speaking with his heart. He was speaking with his head, and that—that was where it hurt.

Laura took a slow, deliberate breath.

Jean was right, in a way. She knew that. But there was something unsettling in the way he framed it. Something almost dismissive, like he couldn’t see that she had the ability to make her own judgments.

She relaxed her shoulders, the tension starting to drain from her voice, the fury slowly receding.

"You... make a fair point," she conceded, her voice quiet and steady, granting him the benefit of the doubt for the time being. "But that applies to both of us, Jean. You’re jumping to assessments just as quickly as I am."

There it was.

The words hung in the air, slightly heavy but still grounded in reality.

She wasn’t just defending Vulpes—she was calling him out, subtly but firmly, for his own hasty conclusions, his own assumptions about people and situations.

Laura could see the shift in Jean’s expression, the tightness in his jaw as he processed her words. For a moment, she wondered if he’d push back against her observation, but instead, he just gave a slight nod, the tension in his shoulders easing, if only slightly.

"Fair enough," he said, his tone sighing with quiet resignation. "I’ll admit, I’ve been a little... too quick to judge. But I’m just trying to keep us safe, Laura. We can’t afford to let our guard down, not with everything that’s happening."

She felt the weight of his words—his worries weren’t coming from a place of distrust, but from a place of fear and protection. He was still on edge, still struggling with the balance of control. She could see it in him, in the way he held back when they should have been acting as partners in everything. But even now, with all their differences and tension, she knew his intentions were never to hurt her.

But that didn’t mean she had to keep giving in to his control.

"I know you’re trying to protect us," Laura said softly, the sincerity clear in her voice. "But we have to trust each other to make these calls. We can’t let fear drive us into acting like we’re alone in this."

Her hand found his, resting gently on the table between them, a small but meaningful gesture that bridged the gap between them.

Jean’s eyes softened, a flicker of understanding passing through them. For a moment, the battle seemed to fade, and they were just two partners again, working toward the same goal.

"Alright," he said, his voice still a little rough but full of acceptance, "I’ll try to trust your judgment, Laura. You’re right. We can’t fight this alone."

She smiled faintly, the tension easing between them. It wasn’t a perfect resolution, but it was a step forward. And that’s all they could ask for.

Jean’s strong hands gently took hers, his usual stoic expression softening. There was a vulnerability in his gaze now, one that caught her attention, and his posture was less rigid, more open.

"I’m sorry, babe. Sorry I started this stupid argument or doubted you," he murmured, his voice low and careful, as though the words had weighed on him for longer than he had admitted. "I just don’t want to see you get hurt or put the good work you and me do at risk."

Laura’s heart softened at the sound of his voice, at the familiar warmth that always came when he was genuinely concerned. She had heard this before, these apologies, this reassurance, and it never failed to wrap her in the comfort of knowing he cared about her safety. She wanted to believe it. She needed to believe it. In a way, she did.

She leaned in, brushing her lips against his in a small, soft kiss—one that was filled with both affection and a touch of playful understanding. It wasn’t the first time he had apologized, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. But that didn’t matter to her—it felt genuine, and that was all she needed.

"I will always forgive you for being my dumb, lovable guard dog," she teased, a faint smile pulling at the corners of her lips. She said it lightly, wanting to break the tension and remind him of the bond they shared. She couldn’t stay upset with him for long, not with how he looked at her like that, as if he was trying so hard to be the man she loved.

Jean chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made Laura’s heart flutter in a way it always did. He gave her hand a slight squeeze, reaffirming the closeness between them, and she felt a wave of warmth pass through her, chasing away the earlier frustration.

But there was something more in his eyes now. A calmness, a subtle satisfaction that didn’t quite reach his usual guarded expression. It was there—barely perceptible, but it was there.

"I’m just trying to protect you," he said, his voice softening, almost tender. "I care about you too much to see you dragged into something dangerous."

Laura’s pulse quickened, but in the best way. The tenderness in his words, the genuine concern for her, was all she needed to hear to feel reassured. It was the comfort she longed for in moments like this. Her trust in him only deepened as he spoke. He was right. He was just trying to keep her safe.

"I know, Jean," she whispered, barely more than a breath, her voice thick with the trust she had in him. "I trust you."

Jean smiled, a look of quiet satisfaction playing across his face. The warmth in his eyes was almost too perfect, too flawless. But Laura didn't see it—she was caught up in the moment, still believing in the bond they shared, convinced that his intentions were as pure as they appeared.

Jean had calmly reclaimed control of the situation, wrapping Laura’s trust back around him with a combination of apology, affection, and reassurance.

And Laura, feeling the pull of the warmth in his presence, didn’t see the manipulation lurking just beneath the surface.

Not yet.

Jean’s eyes shifted past her, briefly glancing toward the bedroom before a slow smile crept across his lips, his hazel eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint.

"How about I say sorry with more than just my words?" His voice lowered, taking on a subtle, almost seductive edge. "We’ve got a few hours before we meet the Vulpes and intercept the Irish…"

He let his words trail off deliberately, leaving the rest unspoken but immediately understood.

Laura followed his gaze, an instinctive recognition flickering in her mind. Make-up sex had always been their go-to after an argument—an unspoken rule of thumb that had kept things between them feeling balanced and repaired.

A small smile began to creep onto her lips as she took in his rugged, handsome face, the way the tension in his features melted away, replaced by that familiar charisma she had always loved.

She moved toward him, her fingers lightly brushing his strong hands, tracing the lines of his palm with the pad of her thumb, drawing small, slow circles. It was soothing, intimate—a gentle connection between them.

"Well," she replied coyly, her voice laced with playful confidence, "might be a good idea to work out anything that could throw us off our work tonight ahead of time..."

Her words were casual, but the way she looked at him—her eyes softened, her smile widened ever so slightly—told him she was ready to play along, ready to indulge in the intimacy that would help them unwind before they stepped back into the dangerous world they had committed themselves to.

Jean's grin deepened, the satisfaction of knowing she was on the same page bringing him a sense of comfort. They both knew it wasn’t just about the physical connection; it was about resetting.

Resetting for what came next.