Ethan stared at the ID for several seconds.
Then several more.
The gun in his hand never lowered.
"...An IRS agent?" Ethan finally said, his tone flat but incredulous.
"Yes," Morin replied calmly, already peeling the rest of the disguise off and tossing it aside like a used napkin. "And before you ask-no, I don't audit people like you for fun. I'm on a special assignment."
Ethan slowly lowered the ID, his brows knitting together.
"Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?" he said. "An IRS agent tracking me across Europe, identifying me as the mole, and then knocking on my door after I blow up a safe house?"
Morin shrugged. "From your perspective, sure. From mine, it's just another Tuesday."
Ethan didn't respond immediately.
Instead, he walked a half-circle around Morin, keeping his pistol trained on him at all times. His eyes scanned Morin's posture, breathing, micro-movements-habits drilled into him over years of fieldwork.
Morin didn't react.
He didn't tense up.
He didn't track the gun.
He didn't even look annoyed.
That bothered Ethan more than open hostility ever could.
"You're too relaxed," Ethan said quietly. "People don't act like this unless they're either very confident... or very dangerous."
Morin smiled. "Those aren't mutually exclusive."
Ethan stopped.
"You said you've been watching me all day," he said. "If that's true, you should know something."
Morin tilted his head. "Go on."
"I don't trust anyone right now," Ethan said. "Not my team, not the CIA, and definitely not some guy who shows up wearing another man's face and flashes an IRS badge."
"Perfect," Morin said. "Then we're on the same page."
Ethan frowned. "How do you figure that?"
"Because I don't trust the CIA either," Morin replied casually. "And unlike you, I don't even work for them."
That made Ethan pause.
The room fell silent.
After a few seconds, Ethan spoke again. "If you're really IRS, what's your interest in this operation?"
Morin walked over to the table, poured himself a glass of water as if he owned the place, and took a sip.
"Simple," he said. "Someone in your agency has been laundering money through shell corporations tied to U.S. assets overseas. Big money. The kind that eventually circles back to the States."
Ethan's eyes narrowed. "And?"
"And that makes it my problem," Morin said. "Because when the money crosses borders and disappears into tax havens, the IRS gets very upset."
Ethan let out a short, humorless laugh. "You're telling me this whole mess-moles, dead agents, blown safe houses-started because of taxes?"
Morin raised a finger. "Unpaid taxes."
"...That's worse," Ethan admitted.
Morin nodded approvingly. "See? You get it."
Ethan finally lowered his gun-just a little.
"Assuming I believe you," he said, "why help me?"
Morin leaned back against the counter. "Because whether you like it or not, Ethan, you're the only one left who hasn't been compromised."
"That's not exactly reassuring."
"It should be," Morin said. "You're alive."
Ethan was silent for a moment, then asked, "And what do you want in return?"
Morin smiled again, that same easy, infuriating smile.
"I want you to keep doing what you're doing," he said. "Draw the mole out. Stir the water. Make mistakes if you have to."
"And you?"
"I'll be the guy cleaning up the books afterward," Morin said. "And maybe before."
Ethan studied him carefully.
"...You know," he said slowly, "in my line of work, people like you usually end up being one of three things."
Morin raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"A liability. A traitor. Or a monster."
Morin chuckled softly. "Which one do you think I am?"
Ethan looked him dead in the eye.
"I haven't decided yet."
Morin pushed himself off the counter and walked toward the door.
"That's fine," he said. "You don't need to trust me."
He paused, hand on the doorknob, and added over his shoulder:
"But if I were your enemy, Ethan... you wouldn't be standing here right now."
The door opened.
Then closed.
Ethan stood alone in the room, staring at the empty space where Morin had been.
After a long while, he muttered to himself:
"...An IRS agent."
He shook his head.
"This world really is insane."