The air inside City Hall smelled of old paper, floor polish, and the faint, metallic scent of bureaucracy. A tired—looking clerk with glasses perched on the end of her nose slid a form across the worn wooden counter.
"Fill this out. Both of you. Black ink only."
Caroline picked up the pen tethered to the counter by a beaded chain. Without a moment's hesitation, she wrote her name in the designated box: Caroline Beaumont. Her handwriting was a fluid, confident script.
Damon watched her out of the corner of his eye. He noted she'd left the "Occupation" field blank for now. His gaze was sharp, analytical, missing nothing.
When she pushed the form towards him, he took the pen. In the box for his own occupation, he wrote Automotive Technician in strong, blocky letters.
Caroline leaned over, her hair brushing his shoulder. "Technician?" she whispered, a teasing note in her voice. "Sounds much fancier than grease monkey."
A corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "Gotta make a good impression on my new bride." He kept his tone light, easily deflecting any deeper inquiry.
The clerk cleared her throat impatiently. "Parents' full names, please. It's required."
This was it. The first exchange of official lies.
Caroline's smile faltered just a little, a masterful touch of feigned sadness. In the spaces for her mother's and father's names, she wrote a single word: Deceased. For her emergency contact, she listed "Mrs. Gable," with the relationship noted as "Guardian."
She looked up at Damon, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "I'm an orphan," she said, her voice soft. "Grew up at St. Jude's Home for Children. Mrs. Gable runs the place."
Damon held her gaze for a beat too long, his own eyes dark and unreadable, as if trying to see the truth through a lie detector. He gave a short, curt nod. "Sorry to hear that."
Then it was his turn. He wrote down Arthur & Eleanor Sterling for his parents. But in the address field next to their names, he simply wrote Unknown.
Caroline raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow in mock surprise. "Sterling? That sounds like a name with money attached to it."
Damon let out a short, self—deprecating laugh. "Old money. And a bad relationship. Haven't spoken to them in years. Don't know where they live, don't care."
It was a brilliant piece of misdirection. He acknowledged the name, a fact that could be easily verified, but severed any connection to it, painting himself as the black sheep, the rebel son who'd walked away from it all. It made his blue—collar life perfectly plausible.
Caroline's expression softened with practiced understanding. "Every family has its issues." Inside, her mind was a steel trap, locking the name "Sterling" away for future reference.
They had both provided backstories that were emotionally compelling and practically impossible to verify through any quick, official channels.
With the form completed, they stood before the clerk. Two strangers, pulled from the hallway to act as witnesses, looked on with bored curiosity. They recited the simple, legally binding words, their voices devoid of any real emotion. There were no rings. No flowers. Just a piece of paper and the scratch of a pen as they signed their names.
The clerk slammed a heavy seal onto the document with a satisfying thud. "Congratulations. You are now legally married."
Caroline rose on her toes and gave Damon a quick, dry peck on the lips. Her eyes, however, held a glint of triumph. "Hello, husband."
"Hello, wife," he murmured back, his mind already on his next move. Hello, cover.
Stepping out of the dim hall and into the bright, unforgiving sunlight, Caroline stretched her arms over her head like a cat. "Well, this married woman needs to go earn a living. Time to find a job."
She uncapped the pen and, on the marriage certificate she held, neatly filled in her previously blank occupation line: Unemployed.
"Any plans?" Damon asked, his tone casual.
"I was thinking a waitress. Something simple. Quick cash." The answer was perfectly aligned with her need to get inside The Alibi Café.
"My salary is enough for both of us," he offered, testing her. "Until I can pick up some side work."
She laughed, a bright, genuine sound that was completely fake. "No offense, but I'm not the stay—at—home type. I like having my own money." She reinforced her persona: independent, a little feisty, and completely ordinary.
They reached the corner where he'd parked his truck. A moment of awkwardness hung between them. What were they supposed to do now? Go home together?
"I'll, uh, see you tonight, then," she said, and before he could answer, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the downtown crowd.
The moment Damon was back in the cab of his truck, he pulled out his burner phone. He sent a new message to his handler.
Target name: Caroline Beaumont. Orphan, St. Jude's Home. Run a background check. Low priority.
Miles away, Caroline slipped into the restroom of a bustling bus station. She emerged minutes later a different person. The sundress was gone, replaced by jeans and a nondescript hoodie. A baseball cap was pulled low over her eyes, and sunglasses hid the rest of her face.
She found a secluded payphone—a relic in this day and age, but untraceable. She dialed a number from memory.
"Nyx reporting," she said, her voice stripped of all its earlier warmth. "Cover established. I am now Caroline Sterling. Beginning phase two surveillance on The Alibi Café."
The marriage was a success. Now, the real work could begin.
———
