Matt Wilson Again.

Alyssa sat across from her father, her fingers idly tracing patterns along the rim of her glass. There was a tension between them—not of hostility, but of years lost to silence and secrets. And yet, in this moment, it was just the two of them, trying to find something resembling normalcy in the world they inhabited.

“No, I can’t say it has been all bad—but it has been harrowing at times. I mean, the team is great. And Peter—well—I love him, and he loves me, and I doubt I would have ever found someone out in the mundane world that would have understood me,” Alyssa admitted, her voice carrying the weight of past struggles and hard-won trust.

Her father, Matt Wilson, gave a hint of a smile, his usually sharp eyes softening. “I put in place, even before you joined the Illuminati, ways to make you safer when you did.”

Alyssa’s gaze sharpened. “Like Max?” she asked bluntly.

Matt’s expression remained unreadable, but there was no hesitation in his voice. “Yes. I knew when you were ready to join a team, he would be around the right age to be put in to protect you. So, I might have made an arrangement or two—several years ago.”

Alyssa exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “Well, thanks for that. He’s very good at his job.” She hesitated, then continued. “You know, Peter has mentioned several times that he wonders what you think of us being together.”

Matt met her gaze steadily. “Well, tell Peter I approve, but it’s not up to me. I have not earned the right to make judgments on your life or who you date.”

His honesty was unexpected, though not unwelcome. Before Alyssa could respond, he added, “I wish I could say that I will be able to talk to you more often, but I can’t. I’m leaving tomorrow morning on another assignment and do not know when I’ll be back in the country. That’s why I wanted to see you tonight—to speak with you.”

Alyssa nodded, understanding even as she hated it. “I get it. I am glad you stopped by.” A simple statement, but one that held a depth of emotion. It was, in her own way, forgiveness.

Matt smiled at that, a quiet, unspoken relief passing between them. “Sure, I’d like that,” he said when she invited him to stay for dinner.

She turned off the fireplace and led him into the kitchen. The room was alive with movement, the rich scent of spices and simmering food filling the air. Max Powers stood at the stove, his massive frame adorned with a “Kiss The Cook” apron, the wok in his hands expertly tossing the sizzling contents. Ekaterina moved with practiced elegance, arranging plates and setting out cups of green tea.

“Max, Ekaterina, do you both remember my father?” Alyssa introduced.

“Hi, and before anyone asks, please call me Matt,” he said.

Agent Powers put his pan down and turned the fire to low, giving Matt a smoldering glance before nodding. “Matt? Good to see you’re still alive. And just in time for dinner.”

Ekaterina smiled politely. “A pleasure, Matt. I look forward to working with Alyssa in the future.”

Matt returned the smile. “Well, it smells good. Thanks for including me.” His gaze shifted to Ekaterina. “My pleasure as well. Alyssa said the team is working well together.”

Alyssa nodded, a small but genuine smile playing on her lips.

Peter Sartre entered then, a ginger ale in hand, his sharp gaze settling on Matt. He extended his hand. “Wilson, you definitely have left Alyssa in good hands. She is extraordinary and beyond talented. She began working with the Illuminati at the age of eighteen. This would’ve been some time after the Tokyo attack, in the night that some of us swallowed a bee… I wonder what would’ve happened if I had stayed up later.”

There was a knowing look in his eyes as he continued, “You have been sort of quiet toward Alyssa. May I ask if you’ve been working on any missions lately? Or would that be something only Kiersten Geary would know about?”

Matt grasped Peter’s hand firmly, his posture relaxed but assessing. “I’ve been on assignment, but I’m not at liberty to discuss much else.”

Alyssa, meanwhile, glanced down at her phone. The Crows and Ravens were both vying for her allegiance again—something she had neither the time nor patience to deal with at the moment. She sighed and looked up. “We’ve discussed it. It’s OK.” She met her father’s gaze, then turned to the others. “We’re alright.”

Agent Powers turned, his apron comically at odds with his usual intimidating presence. “Food’s ready. Time to eat.”

Ekaterina picked up a set of hot plates. “Time to relocate to the dining room.”

As they settled in, Peter asked, “What was your favorite moment with Alyssa, Mr. Wilson?”

“Please, call me Matt,” he corrected, a familiar preference mirrored in his daughter. “I wish I had more times to choose from, but the day she was born and her sixteenth birthday—one of the few birthdays I’ve gotten to spend with her so far.”

Alyssa led him to the table, gesturing for him to sit beside her. “Anything special happen on her sixteenth birthday, Matt?” Peter inquired.

Matt smiled at the memory. “We just got a chance to spend time together. Went to a little Italian place for dinner, took in a Broadway show… pretty much, I took cues from Alyssa and what she wanted to do.”

Alyssa eyed the food appreciatively. “That looks as good as it smells. Did anyone let Sung know dinner was ready?”

As if on cue, Sung entered, bowing slightly. “Sorry, I am late. I was getting ready,” he said. “Mr. Wilson, it is good to see you. I hope your day has been good.”

Matt greeted him with a nod. “Please, call me Matt. My day has been good. I hope yours has as well.”

Peter leaned forward slightly. “What brought you to Williamsburg, Matt?”

“I had a meeting in Virginia Beach, but I was given information that Alyssa was in Williamsburg, and I wanted to see her before I left the country again.”

“May I ask what your meeting was about?” Peter pressed.

Matt’s expression darkened slightly. “I’m not at liberty to say. But from what I hear, all of you are aware—there are big things coming. My next assignment has to do with that.”

Alyssa blinked, surprised. “You knew what had happened with the team?”

“Not details, but we’re all involved in something big currently.”

Sung took a contemplative sip of tea. “Intriguing.”

Peter wasn’t finished. “What does your next assignment have to do with us?”

Matt exhaled. “It’s all connected, isn’t it? The whole stopping-the-end-of-the-world thing.” He arched a brow. “You seem to be reading more into what I said than what was meant.”

Sung smirked. “You all can see this is taken very seriously. How often, even in history, do organizations work together? Seldom, if ever. Do you think there’s just one team working on an end-of-the-world scenario?” He took another sip. “Matt is correct in his thinking, I will guess.”
The last time we met, you died…"

Peter Sartre’s voice was measured, yet the weight of his words hung in the air like an unfinished symphony. The dim lighting in the small, secure meeting room did little to dispel the shadow that had settled over the table.

Matt Wilson nodded, his expression unreadable. “I did, but didn’t. It’s hard to truly kill one who’s swallowed a Bee.”

Alyssa Wilson, ever the pragmatist, sipped her tea and studied her father. His answer was an enigma wrapped in a contradiction, a statement that resolved nothing. “That’s nondescript.”

Matt’s gaze met his daughter’s. “I had to make a choice. I chose to come back—to be returned—to you.”

Alyssa had no idea what to say to that. The weight of it pressed down on her, but words failed her. Sartre, always the investigator, pushed forward. “Did you see anything while you were there?”

Matt’s expression darkened. “Yes, but it might be best to discuss it another time. At least, not at dinner.” He exhaled and shifted the conversation. “I had another reason for my visit. It was given to me after I called you, Alyssa. The Illuminati—or more like Kiersten Geary—moves fast sometimes.”

Sartre smirked. “I can assure you that Alyssa Wilson moves faster, Matt. What was your reason for visiting us?”

Matt leaned back, considering his words. “I was supposed to tell you about your next assignment. I was briefed on what happened—well, a little anyway. I was told any additional information would be sent to you. I thought they might have sent something already?”

Alyssa shook her head. “I didn’t receive anything.”

“Neither did I,” Sartre confirmed. “What exactly is our mission, Matt?” His eyes flicked toward Alyssa, gauging her reaction.

Agent Max Powers chuckled as he swallowed his food. “Well, I doubt our missions will change much. They’re usually killing the enemy, a rescue while killing the enemy, destroying the enemy base and the enemy, killing the enemy and stopping their attempt at sabotage. I doubt it will be anything new.”

Ekaterina, poised as always, smirked at Max’s blunt assessment while delicately eating her meal.

Matt and Alyssa both chuckled. “True,” Matt admitted. “I suppose we all get the same type of assignments then. But this one is different. You’re headed to Nevada. The desert. PX-141—a military base, kind of forgotten by the higher-ups. The accommodations aren’t the best. They left it with a scientist and a skeleton crew, but it was still used for research. And now? Everyone is half crazy. I’m sending a list of names regarding the missing to Alyssa’s phone.”

Alyssa’s phone buzzed. “Got it. Forwarding it to all of you now.” Her fingers danced across the screen, sharing the grim roster with the team.

Matt nodded. “I’ve had assignments in the desert before. I can guess at least some of you have as well. It’s relentless, unforgiving, and a beacon for odd occurrences—aliens, otherworldly encounters.”

Sartre leaned forward slightly. “Alyssa, show your father your new power. He may want to know where you got it from.”

Alyssa hesitated. “Maybe we should finish discussing the assignment first.”

Matt’s gaze sharpened. “Go ahead and show me. It’ll give everyone time to think of questions.”

Alyssa exhaled, focusing on the salt shaker resting on the table. With a mere thought, it lifted into the air, floating effortlessly toward her waiting hand before settling into her palm.

Matt observed the feat with quiet intrigue. “That’s a pretty useful ability. Where did you get it from?”

“Prue Halliwell. It’s a long story, but we’re connected.”

Matt didn’t flinch at the name. Not out of recognition, but because he had seen odder things. “Like a spirit guardian?”

“Yeah, like that,” Alyssa said. “We can talk about it later.”

“Alright.” Matt nodded, then glanced at the group. “Did anyone have any questions about the assignment? I’ll try to answer what I can.”

Sung took a slow bite of food, contemplating. “It is funny how chaos flows through the darkness despite what you cannot see. But what chaos walks in the dark will be the next question.”

Matt considered the words. “True. I am certain all of you can answer that.”

Sung, ever cryptic, continued, “The ancient chaos walks in time from a time of old and will flow over the land, devouring a spark of light. That is all I was told.”

Sartre sighed. “So we’re going to the middle of nowhere in Nevada?”

Ekaterina elegantly smiled. “We should order some strong sunscreen.”

Agent Powers nodded. “Noted. I’ll add it to the supply list.”

Alyssa glanced at Max. “I’ll probably need SPF 100 or something.” Her tone was half-joking, but her fair complexion betrayed the real concern.

Ekaterina’s smirk deepened. “Don’t worry, Alyssa. I’ll help him choose an excellent brand. It’s important for us women to protect our delicate skin.”

“Thanks,” Alyssa said, shaking her head slightly.

Sartre turned his gaze back to Matt. “Anything we need to know about this base?”

Agent Powers wiped his hands and pulled out his phone. “Any recommendations for special weapons or tech? I can text my father.”

Matt exhaled. “I don’t know much more about the base than what I’ve already said. As for tech—focus on detecting sound from a distance. Not sure what you’ll run into, so I can’t advise on weapons. Maybe focus on ones that can help against aliens.”

Powers typed out a quick message. “I’m sure my father will send us something useful. If you need anything else, let me know, and I’ll forward it.”

Sung raised an eyebrow. “Aliens? I hope they have their visas or green cards ready. This is a little out of my expertise.”

Matt smirked. “It’s out of most agents’ expertise. But I’ve known very few who go to the desert without encountering something extraterrestrial—even if it’s just a whisper on the wind.”

Sung shrugged. “Chaos is always moving and shifting.”

Ekaterina elegantly added, “Life is much like hurricanes. It is up to us how to deal with them.”

Sartre tapped his fingers against the table. “Matt, when do you suggest we leave? I’m sure you want to spend more time with Alyssa.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning. You should leave as soon as possible. No later than a few days.”

Sartre, in a private chip message, asked Alyssa, May we hold hands? He didn’t want her to feel awkward in front of her father. Alyssa took his hand without hesitation.

Sartre glanced at Matt, gauging his reaction. “Your daughter is amazing, Matt.”

Matt’s response was immediate. “At that, Peter, we are both in agreement.”

Alyssa let out a quiet, “Thank you,” but added with a smirk, “You are, however, both going to embarrass me.”

Matt chuckled. “Just be prepared. The desert is unforgiving. And if it is extraterrestrial… well, just hope you never meet the ones you can’t kill.”

The room hummed with a low, almost imperceptible tension, the kind that grew in the spaces between conversations. It clung to the air, pressing down, heavy and almost oppressive, yet moments of lightness flickered through, like embers in the dark. The clinking of spoons against dessert plates, the faint murmur of coffee being poured—these sounds were momentary distractions from the weight of what hovered just beneath the surface of the words spoken.