March – Markov Estate, Departure Day
No Trumpets, No Parade
The morning of their departure was cold, Gray, and quiet.
There were no formal farewells. No grand family send-off. Just a long black car waiting at the estate's side gate, its headlights casting pale beams onto the frosted cobblestones.
Jay stood beside the car, dressed in a dark coat and scarf, one bag slung over his shoulder. The leather was worn but reliable. Vincent had packed it himself.
Christin arrived two minutes late.
Still punctual. Still composed.
She wore a slate-blue coat with silver clasps, her hair tied in a high, no-nonsense twist. A leather satchel rested neatly across her torso.
Jay gave a nod.
"You ready to play diplomat?" he asked.
"I was born ready," she replied.
"But are you ready to do it with me?"
She paused. Then smiled faintly. "Better with you than without you."
Theo came running up last—out of breath, shirt untucked, waving something over his head.
"WAIT! Wait, I forgot—" he skidded to a stop, thrusting a wrapped object into Jay's hands.
Jay unwrapped it.
It was a keychain.
Tiny, silver, in the shape of a soccer ball.
Jay blinked. "Seriously?"
Theo grinned. "So, you don't forget the real MVP."
Jay chuckled. "Thanks, idiot."
Theo saluted, then turned to Christin. "Please bring him back in one piece."
She gave a light bow. "I'll try."
A Mother's Farewell
As the car doors opened, Celeste appeared at the top of the stone steps.
No announcement. No fanfare.
Just a soft rustle of her dress as she walked down toward them.
Jay met her halfway.
"I'll be careful," he said.
She cupped his face gently.
"No, you won't," she replied. "But you'll come back. That's enough."
Jay swallowed.
Celeste turned to Christin. "Take care of my son."
Christin nodded. "I will."
Then, without another word, Celeste turned and disappeared into the estate.
Jay stood silent for a beat.
Then got in the car.
III. The Flight
They flew in silence for the first hour.
The jet was sleek, private, comfortable—but Jay couldn't relax. He kept staring at the window, watching clouds bleed past like slow ghosts.
Christin eventually unbuckled and moved to sit beside him.
"You're overthinking again," she said.
Jay didn't look at her. "Maybe."
"You want me to distract you?"
He finally turned. "With what?"
Christin reached into her satchel and pulled out a packet.
Jay stared.
"Uno?"
She nodded.
Jay blinked. "You play Uno?"
"I win at Uno," she corrected.
Jay laughed.
They played three rounds.
She beat him twice.
The tension dissolved a little more each time.
By the fourth hour, they were sitting closer.
Arrival
They landed just after dusk.
The city was colder than expected—sleek and modern, with tall glass towers and neon signs in a dozen languages. The diplomatic summit would take place in the eastern quarter, hosted by House Duvall—a neutral noble line known for deals, not declarations.
A black car waited at the terminal. Two guards greeted them with curt nods and silver emblems.
Jay stepped into the unfamiliar night.
He didn't know the streets.
Didn't know the language.
Didn't know the rules.
But when Christin stepped up beside him—calm, unreadable, present—he felt his shoulders settle just slightly.
"This is your world," Jay murmured.
"It's ours now," she said.
They entered the car together.
The city swallowed them whole.
A Room With Two Keys
Their hotel suite was... overkill.
Marble floors. Glass balcony. Velvet-lined walls. Two bedrooms joined by a shared lounge and study.
Jay dropped his bag and flopped onto the couch. "If I touch anything, will it explode?"
Christin wandered to the bar. "Only the snacks."
Jay watched her. She moved differently here—less stiff, more fluid. Like this setting suited her.
Or maybe she was just letting herself breathe.
He loosened his scarf and leaned back.
She returned, handed him water, and sat across from him.
They didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
The silence wasn't awkward anymore.
It was familiar.
Like shared Armor.