# Chapter 8: New Identities

The Visconti estate sprawled across the French countryside like a sleeping giant, its stone walls weathered by centuries of rain and history. Inside the eastern wing, what had once been a ballroom for long-dead aristocrats now served as Lucienne and Margaux's private quarters, filled with enough perfume bottles to stock a boutique and clothing racks that groaned under the weight of their contents.

A knock at the door heralded the arrival of the castle servants — four women in their fifties and sixties, all dressed in the grey-and-white livery of the estate. They filed in without a word, each carrying a gleaming case, and set them down on a long mahogany table near the window.

"Thank you, Brigitte," Lucienne said, dismissing the eldest with a nod. "We'll call if we need anything else."

The servants withdrew, closing the door behind them, and the room fell suddenly quiet. Margaux turned the lock with a decisive click.

"Strip," she said without preamble.

Alex blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard her." Lucienne gestured at the two ornate chairs in the center of the room. "We need to see what we're working with. Fleur sent us her measurements from the gala, but that was weeks ago, and prosthetics can shift things around. Sit."

Eli looked at Alex with wide eyes, clearly seeking guidance. Alex gave him a small nod. They'd agreed to this, hadn't they? After Conrad's warning about Fleur, Alex had still chosen to trust her, and this was the price of that trust. Two more disguises. Two more lies. But this time, at least, the disguises would be better.

He pulled off the grease-stained coveralls he'd been wearing since the salvage dock, dropping them into a heap on the floor. Eli followed suit, and soon both of them stood in their undershorts while the two pilots circled them like predators sizing up prey.

"Mm," Margaux hummed, tapping her chin. "You were right, Luci. They're perfect."

"Told you." Lucienne grabbed Alex's arm and held it up to the light. "Look at these shoulders. Narrow, but not bony. Passable."

"Passable?" Alex snorted. "I've done this twice already. I think I know what I'm doing."

"With scrap prosthetics." Lucienne released his arm and walked around him, her heels clicking against the parquet floor. "The stuff you've been wearing …