CHAPTER 172

JAX'S POV

Three years later, I was chasing our three-year-old son Liam through the halls of UN headquarters in Geneva while Skylar briefed the Security Council on our latest anti-trafficking operation. Five-year-old Addison walked beside me with the serious expression she wore whenever we visited "Mama's work building," her small hand gripping mine as she observed everything with tactical awareness that would have been disturbing in any other child.

"Papa, why is Liam running?" she asked in the precise way she had of asking questions that cut straight to the heart of complex situations.

"Because he's three and he doesn't understand that this is a place where people do important work," I said, finally cornering our dark-haired tornado near the elevator banks.

"Like helping children?"

"Exactly like helping children."

"Will I help children when I grow up?"

It was a question she'd been asking more frequently, and one that all of us struggled to answer. We wanted her to have choices, to be able to pursue whatever life made her happy. But we also couldn't deny that she showed early signs of the same protective instincts and strategic thinking that had defined Skylar's childhood.

"You can help children if you want to," I said carefully. "But you can also be a doctor, or a teacher, or an artist, or anything else you choose."

"What if I choose to be like Mama?"

Before I could answer that loaded question, Lucas appeared around the corner carrying a tablet and wearing the expression that meant we had a situation developing.

"Emergency briefing in Conference Room A," he said without preamble. "Skylar's wrapping up with the Security Council, but this can't wait."

"What kind of emergency?"

"The kind where someone just grabbed thirty-seven children from a refugee camp in Lebanon, and the intelligence suggests it's connected to the power struggle we've been tracking in Eastern Europe."

I felt the familiar cold certainty that meant our family was about to be pulled into another crisis. Over the past three years, we'd successfully dismantled twelve major trafficking networks and rescued over a thousand victims. But each victory seemed to create new opportunities for other criminals to expand their operations.

"Kids," I said, kneeling down to Addison and Liam's level. "We need to go to the childcare center for a little while. Mama and the uncles have to handle some work business."

"Is someone hurt?" Addison asked, her dark eyes serious.

"Some children need help, yes."

"Then we should help them."

"We are going to help them. But first, you two need to be safe while we figure out the best way to do that."

As I walked them to the secure childcare facility the UN had established for staff with security clearances, I couldn't help but think about the conversation Skylar and I had been having more frequently - about whether our work was making the world safer for our children, or just exposing them to more sophisticated threats.

The briefing room was already filled with representatives from multiple agencies when I arrived. Skylar sat at the head of the table, four months pregnant with our third child and radiating the kind of controlled fury that meant someone was about to have a very bad day.

"Situation report," she said as I took my seat beside Harry.

"Thirty-seven children, ages six to sixteen, taken from the Zaatari refugee camp during a supposed medical evacuation," Agent Martinez began, pulling up satellite images on the main screen. "The vehicles were legitimate UN medical transport, complete with proper documentation and authorized personnel."

"Inside job," Harry said grimly.

"Definitely inside job. But here's where it gets interesting - the route they took after leaving the camp matches transportation corridors we've identified as being controlled by the same network that's been trying to consolidate Henry's old territory."

"They're using refugee children as inventory," I realized. "Kids who are already displaced, whose families might not be able to track them or report them missing."

"It gets worse," Lucas said, pulling up financial records on his tablet. "The money funding this operation is coming from sources we thought we'd eliminated two years ago. Either we missed something significant in our previous investigations, or someone's been rebuilding using resources we didn't know existed."

Skylar was quiet for a moment, studying the intelligence reports with the focused intensity that meant she was processing tactical implications at multiple levels.

"This isn't just about those thirty-seven children," she said finally. "This is a test. Someone's testing our response capabilities to see how effectively we can coordinate international rescue operations."

"A test for what?"

"For something bigger. Much bigger." She stood up, moving to the map display showing refugee populations across the Middle East and Africa. "Look at the pattern. They're not targeting random children - they're specifically taking kids from camps with the highest international visibility but the weakest local security."

"Maximum impact, minimum risk," Harry understood immediately.

"Exactly. And if they can prove that even UN-protected refugee children aren't safe, they can use that as leverage with potential buyers who want guarantees about their purchases."

The implications were staggering. We weren't just dealing with a single trafficking operation - we were looking at a coordinated campaign to destabilize the entire international refugee protection system.

"How long until they move the children out of the region?" I asked.

"Based on previous patterns, forty-eight hours maximum," Agent Martinez replied. "After that, they'll be distributed across multiple networks and virtually impossible to track."

"Then we have forty-eight hours to find them and shut down the entire operation."

"Skylar," Lucas said carefully, "you're four months pregnant. High-stress tactical operations..."

"Are exactly what I've been doing for the past three years without any complications," she finished. "Lucas, I appreciate the concern, but children are being sold while we debate my medical limitations."

"It's not just about medical limitations. It's about the fact that every trafficking organization in the world knows your face now. You can't exactly conduct covert operations when you're internationally recognizable."

"Then we don't conduct covert operations. We conduct very public, very aggressive, very permanent solutions to this problem."

She turned to face the room, and I could see the transformation happening that always occurred when Skylar shifted from mother and wife into the weapon my father had trained her to be.

"Agent Martinez, I want real-time surveillance on every port, airport, and border crossing within a thousand kilometers of that camp. Harry, coordinate with local authorities to establish checkpoints on every major transportation route. Lucas, start tracing the financial networks funding this operation - I want to know every source of money, every bank account, every shell company."

"And you?" I asked.

"I'm going to Lebanon to personally oversee the rescue operation."

"The hell you are."

"Jax, this isn't a discussion. Those children don't have time for us to debate the safety implications of my involvement."

"And our children don't have time for their mother to get herself killed trying to save everyone else's kids."

The room fell silent as the weight of that statement settled between us. It was the central tension that had defined our marriage - Skylar's need to protect innocent people versus our need to protect our family.

"What if there was a way to do both?" Harry asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what if we could rescue those thirty-seven children while also sending a message that makes it clear what happens to people who target refugee camps?"

Skylar's smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "What kind of message?"

"The kind that involves eliminating every person involved in this operation, seizing their assets, and making sure the footage gets distributed to every criminal organization thinking about expanding into refugee exploitation."

"That's not rescue work," Lucas pointed out. "That's warfare."

"Good," Skylar said. "Because I'm tired of playing defense."

As the briefing broke up and we began coordinating what would either be the most successful operation of our careers or the one that finally destroyed us, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were crossing a line we'd never be able to uncross.

But looking at Skylar's face as she planned the systematic destruction of people who trafficked refugee children, I realized that line had probably been crossed long ago.

We'd just finally stopped pretending otherwise.