Something was different, he could tell as soon as he entered the nondescript tavern in one of the many middle-class locales of London. The kind of place where one would not blink if they saw a well-dressed man enter one minute, and a dockworker leave the next. Ordinary, nothing worth noticing or thinking about. And yet, the tense feeling persisted, as if the building itself was holding its breath in anticipation. The tavern keeper nodded to him in greeting as he typically did and Rafe returned the gesture before slipping into the backrooms and taking the stairwell down to the actual headquarters.

It was late so the staff was sparse, but he knew The Major would be here. The man never went home, wherever home was. Though Rafe supposed that staying at the office was preferable to returning to an empty home, a constant reminder of the family he had lost. If something happened to his family, his father, or Jane, or Sylvie......Rafe would likely sink to depths from where there would be no redemption.

He saw the dogs first, three large beasts, two black and one white that stood to attention immediately as he approached. They bared their teeth, growling protectively and Rafe had no doubt that he would take a few more steps and be able to see their master. The dogs snarled as he approached, warning him that they could easily take apart a man if he threatened their master.

The hounds would be a problem if it came to a confrontation. Rafe would have to find a way to circumvent them.

A sharp command uttered in Hindi cut across the room, the hounds reluctantly sitting back down placidly, and then Rafe finally set his eyes on him. The motherfucker who would have hurt Sylvie if Rafe hadn't arrived in time. The motherfucker who Rafe was going to take apart one limb at a time. Just as soon as he could prove it. Rafe was powerful, yes, but not powerful enough to kill one of The Collective's most significant assets without proof. The Major would not let him have the man who was like a son to him unless Rafe could show him without a doubt that The Viper had betrayed The Collective.

"Been a while, Carlisle," The Viper eyed him from his position across the room, his head cocked like a predator inspecting an injured gazelle. A sardonic smile played at his lips that had Rafe's hackles rising. He'd lost weight since Rafe had last seen him, his scars standing out in stark relief against his tanned skin. Just like Sylvie said, he had a beard now that somehow made him look even more deadly.

The Viper was the English mastiff to Raphael's panther; hulking where he was sleek, broad where Raphael was lean, his gait without the casual, inherent grace of Raphael's legs but with a heaviness and purpose that Rafe lacked. Different, yes, but lethal all the same.

While The Viper was not as fair as an Englishman, the current hue of his skin was darker than usual- he must have been spending a good deal of time in the sun. Rafe bristled at being called by his title, the subtle jab implying that he was undeserving of his position among the members. As if he hadn't sacrificed, as if he hadn't soiled his soul just as much as the rest.

"So, you let Trentham get away," Rafe infused his own mocking lilt into that statement. "There's no harm in asking for backup when you're outmatched, Viper."

"Hmmmm," The Viper rumbled. "The man who has been hunting a ghost unsuccessfully for eight years might want to refrain from giving me advice. As I see it, there's only one of us that knows how to get their shit done. At least I can prove my quarry exists. Ah, I do see an element of irony there, Phantom."

Rafe's heart began pumping at the obvious smugness behind those words, at one time he would have assumed it was because The Viper thought himself superior to him in skill. Now, though, those words clanged against Rafe's ears as a taunt that he would never be able to prove The Viper's involvement and that The Viper was confident in that knowledge.

One of the hounds whined, clearly sensing the bloodlust roiling through Rafe, trotting over to its master who patted it on the head. The hound flipped over, exposing its belly which its master obligingly rubbed. The whole scene was bizarre, he and The Viper exchanging thinly veiled taunts as the other man rubbed a fucking dog on its belly. The other two, displeased at being left out, hurried over to snipe and snarl at their sibling, who moved with a grunt. A whistle had the roughhousing brought to an abrupt end as all three canine posteriors obediently hit the floor.

"I don't know what sort of pissing contest the two of you are trying to partake in, but kindly do it outside my office. The actual dogs are showing better decorum," The Major snapped at the two of them. "You can go see The Doctor about your physicals tomorrow," he dismissed The Viper with an incline of his head toward the door. The man got up, collected his hat, and whistled once more. All three of his beasts got up and trotted after him immediately. Rafe hated to admit it, but it was a damned impressive sight how meticulously those dogs were trained.

"And you, what in God's name do you want at this time of the night?"

Rafe refrained from pointing out that The Major kept shittier hours than he did.

"Heartwood's sister saw him," Rafe said without preamble, The Major's head snapped to him, his eyes delivering a warning to speak carefully.

"Where?"

"At an Inn on the Great North Road. Five days ago."

"He was in Scotland," The Major replied, "He would have used the same route to return."

Rafe grit his teeth. The Major would not want to believe it of his beloved pupil, naturally.

"Let me guess; he wants to go to India."

"That's hardly unexpected," The Major's reply held scathing censure. "You have been after one man for eight years, is he not allowed the same liberties?"

"And you think it is a coincidence that he turns up a few weeks after what happened? That, of the hundreds of inns between London and Edinburgh, he was in the same place that Syl- Miss Heartwood was? It's no secret that they were on bad terms before Thomas was captured. And now, he wants to leave English soil. He could go anywhere from India; The Far East, Egypt, Turkey, Russia. He knows full well how to disappear."

"Let me get this straight; The Viper waited eight long years to get Thomas killed and now he's using Trentham as an excuse to leave the only home he has ever known?" The Major scoffed. "You know as well as I that he does not leave loose ends like that."

"Killing Thomas wasn't worth the trouble and scrutiny it would bring- everyone already thought Thomas had lost his mind, why not let him ramble about whatever he wished as long as no one believed it? But what if Thomas finally discovered his long-sought-after evidence? Wouldn't he be a greater threat, worthy of an elaborate plan to dispatch him?"

The Major observed him with chilling reproach. "So your theory, half-baked at best, relies entirely on the fact that one of the most loyal of our operatives not only betrayed us in Belgium but then concocted a mad scheme that involved faking his own death and letting a terrorist get away? A man who has not once failed England in the two decades since he has been inducted? Oh and yes, his betrayal was just one isolated incident instead of a consistent effort to undermine our efforts during the war?"

"He is the only one who makes sense."

"You are better than this, Phantom. The kind of accusation you are leveling a man who is as close to me as my blood better be fucking followed by evidence stronger than bloody smoke and theories better than one with holes the size of cannon balls in it."

"I would ask you to consider that you are unable to remain impartial if it comes to The Viper," Raphael said, trying to keep the sharpness from his tone. If you were going to accuse one of Britain's most lethal men of going soft, you might as well be courteous doing it. The Major looked at him dispassionately, fury flaring before he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He let out a long exhale and nodded.

"You might be right on that account, I will grant you that," he said grimly. "I will do what I can to stall his departure to India, but I cannot do so indefinitely. Not without cause."

"Thank you, sir."

"I will remove myself from further involvement. That said, I am not giving you free reign to do as you please. You do not make a move without express, incontestable proof, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," he stood straighter, about to announce his intent to depart.

"Do you need men? To aid your investigation?"

"No. Not for the investigation, but I need guards. Skilled, vigilant, competent."

"Bodyguards for Heartwood's sister and daughter? You think that someone will attempt to harm the child while she lives under your roof?"

"I will not take a chance with either of them." Just the thought of Jane or Sylvie at The Viper's mercy opened a pit of fear in his heart. God fucking damn it. It was this vulnerability, this emotion that he had been trying so fucking hard to avoid. "How many men can you spare?"

"Will eight suffice?"

"Ten."

"I'll make arrangements."

The sun rose through the dense fog that wrapped in tendrils around his coat and hat, the daybreak weak. The chill was one of the reasons The Viper despised London, even though now he could clothe himself to prevent it from reaching his very bones as it had done when he was just a child, roaming the streets, begging for spare change.

Nahi beta, mujhe thand nahi lag rahi, tum lou na poora kambal.

His mind was a tumult of conflicting thoughts. He should go after Trentham and leave England. Maybe for several years. How else could he ensure that the truth behind his absence did not come to light? But the stupid, foolish part of him rebelled at the very idea of leaving the only home he had ever known and to never return to it or its people.

Ah, Ammi. I have done something very, very foolish.

His long limbs carried him past the gates of a home long neglected, crumbling and ugly, the walls decaying, the paint faded, and the windows broken. A cruel smile twisted across his features as he contemplated how the man who had owned it before Sebastian would be turning in his grave to know how he had let it fall to ruin. It had been the pride of the Avery family for generations, this large opulent mansion on the outskirts of London, surrounded by significant families. And it had been the single greatest happiness of Sebastian's life to have ripped it from the men who had turned his mother away when she had been desperate, alone, and frightened.

Ah, the looks on their faces when he had turned up at his grandfather's funeral, and then when the will was read- bequeathing every last penny to Sebastian. Just remembering that moment put a smile on his face.

The will had been forged of course, as his uncles had fought for years to prove. But that boy they had dismissed as a bastard, the son of the woman they had branded an Indian whore instead of acknowledging her marriage to their brother, he had grown up. He had learned how to crush his enemies, how to make their death swift or painful and they had been unable to defeat him. He had ousted them from their home with only the clothes they had on their backs, and then he had destroyed it. After that he had dismantled the Avery shipping empire brick by brick, selling shares at pathetically cheap rates. His uncles had begged and threatened but their words had fallen on his unremorsefully deaf ears, their meager savings running out by the day and The Viper had relished every second of their slow descent into poverty.

They had stolen his birthright from him, they had stolen his mother's dignity from her, so he had stolen everything from them. Ruthlessly, mercilessly because that is who he was.

Let them now face the cold of London without the comfort of their woolen and lit hearths. Let them suffer what his mother had suffered. Let the cold and frost take them as it had taken her.

He slackened his hold on the leash tethering his canine companions to him, and they shot off with excited yelps, happy to be out in the open space where they could rough around to their hearts' content. He walked a deliberate path through the ruined grounds that he had taken great pleasure in razing and opened the small gate that led to the only part of the estate that he had kept pristine and beautiful; a garden he had planted with chambeli in droves. They had been her favorite; she had often told him of the necklace of chambeli flowers his father had given her on their wedding lamenting that the jasmine in England just did not smell the same and that when they had saved enough money to return to Lahore, she would show him her garden in her father's house.

They never did make enough money to return.

So he had buried her here, in the stronghold of the people who had wronged her, surrounded by the flowers she had loved, so very far from her beloved Lahore.

He strolled forward, becoming aware of the feminine figure sitting on a bench by his mother's grave. The Viper reached for the gun hidden in his pocket, though he had a feeling he would not need it.

"So you live. Yet again," she said with the familiar amused lilt in her tone. "Gave us all a fright. Papa dearest was nearly in tatters."

"Widow," he called in terse greeting, releasing his hold on the weapon. "It's your fault you thought a fucker like Trentham could send me to the afterlife."

"And after I went through all the trouble of making you a grave," she tsked, and The Viper had known her too damn long to miss the strain under that apparently carefree statement. He looked around, noticing that the garden was tidy, his mother's grave clean, and that there was another tombstone next to hers. Sebastian felt a foreign burning behind his eyes at the sight.

Fucking women.

Sentimental fools, the lot of them.

They had made a pact with one another nearly a decade ago- when it had seemed that the war would never end, when they had been the only young ones among the ranks of The Collective, when they had been naïve enough to think people like them could have friends.

"I would not have held you to that old promise."

"We all deserve a resting place, Baz," The Widow sighed, using the name she had not in almost ten years. Like he said, fucking sentimental. "I hope you will extend the same courtesy to me if the need ever arises."

But perhaps he could use that sentiment to his favor. An idea began to formulate in The Viper's mind.

"Do you remember Spain? You still owe me for that shite."

She turned to him, surprise flaring in her eyes before nodding once.

"I need to move a large amount of money without its destination being traced."

"Who do you need to pay off that you cannot from the regular channels?" She tilted her head, assessing him.

"No questions, Caro," he, too used her name that had not been on his lips for all these years, making it clear that this was a matter that went beyond the scope of The Collective. "Can you make it happen?"

"Yes. Yes, I can."