Page 18

18

Thomas

W ill had a habit of talking to himself when he buttoned his shirt.

They weren’t full conversations—just those under-his-breath, half-charming, half-grumbled remarks that revealed far more than he intended. Today, it was a string of curses aimed at the stiffness of his collar and the angle of the sun streaming through the hotel curtains. Grinning like an idiot, I watched him fumble with his buttons and let him talk, let it fill the space between us, because it was the last calm we were going to have for the rest of the day.

After a moment of blessed normalcy, I found the edge of the bed and began tying my shoes with mechanical precision, listening to the rustle of cloth, the clink of buttons. Will’s reflection flickered in the wardrobe mirror. His sleeves were rolled just enough to suggest he wasn’t trying to impress anyone—but he always did. How could my beautiful boy not?

He turned to me at last, holding out my tie. “You’ll look less like a war criminal with this on.”

“And more like a bureaucrat?”

“Which is worse in some circles,” he said, smirking and stepping close enough for me to feel his breath against my jaw.

He looped the tie around my neck, pulling the ends through with practiced ease. We didn’t look at each other in the mirror. We didn’t need to. The weight of his fingers said everything—be safe, be smart, come back to me.

Tie in hand, he turned toward the bathroom door and tugged for me to follow. A dog on his leash, I had little choice. Once inside, he cranked up the shower and faucet, then resumed tying the knot.

“You sure you don’t want me going with Egret?” he whispered near my ear, his voice soft but no longer casual.

“He’s better alone for this. Two foreigners walking into a cryptography briefing with an almost-adversary’s secret service makes too much noise.”

“And you don’t think he’ll make noise on his own?” I cocked a brow.

“He will,” I admitted. “But he’ll control it. He might be a wildcard most of the time, but he’s a cool operator when it counts. Trust him, okay?”

“What about Sparrow?”

“She’ll remain here, faking a stomach bug, so she can check on the notice board a few times throughout the day. Who knows? Our little rabbit might reply today.”

“Rabbits like to hide.”

“But they’re so tasty when you catch them.” I waggled my brows. “They’re a little like chicken but without all those annoying feathers.”

Will snorted and tightened the knot at my throat a little more than necessary.

“I hate this part,” he said.

“Strangling me?”

He slapped my arm.

“Which part?”

“Sending everyone off like it’s a dress rehearsal for something that could get us shot. Fucking waiting. God, it’s only been a day, and the waiting is already gnawing at my gut.”

I looked at him. His hands were still at my collar, now idle, resting. He wasn’t letting go yet.

“This isn’t a rehearsal, Will,” I said. “It’s the show. The curtain’s up. We’re just hoping the audience isn’t armed.”

That earned a weak smile. He leaned in, pressed a kiss to my lips—not the kind we risked often, not here; but with every drop of water we could find running through the pipes, it would be impossible for anyone listening to catch our moment of affection. At least, we hoped that was so.

“Be boring,” I told him.

“Always am.”

“Talk about power grids, bureaucratic inefficiencies, fuel allotments. Hell, if you really want to bore them, talk about American elections and the idiots we send to Congress. They should get a real charge out of that.”

“A real charge?” Will rolled his eyes—but he chuckled.

I gave him one of my half smirks and added, “Maybe bring up supply chain shortages and make someone weep.”

He kissed the side of my mouth before I could pull back.

He didn’t smile again. Not really. But he looked better. More ready.

We shut off the water and returned to the bedroom, where he picked up his folder, the one full of fabricated reports and false leads, and adjusted his coat. He nodded once and slipped out the door, leaving the silence behind him like an afterthought.

I stayed a moment longer. Let the weight settle. Tried to fix his image in my mind, the feel of his kiss against my lips, the warmth of his breath on my skin.

“Stay safe, please,” I murmured, not caring if anyone heard my plea.

Then I reached for my own coat and briefcase, already packed with papers I didn’t care about and credentials that were real enough to fool someone lazy enough not to double-check. When I stepped into the hall, Sparrow was already there—leaning against the wall in a thick sweater and scarf, her eyes puffy, her skin paler than usual.

“You look awful,” I said.

“Thank you,” she replied.

“You’re quite convincing.”

“I do my best.”

She was playing her part well—bed-bound but restless. She’d already called the front desk once. She would call down twice more throughout the day for hot water for tea. She would take a short walk around the block for air.

And check the notice board.

“If anyone tails you—”

“I’ll lose them. I’ve already planned two detours through the church gardens and back alley with the butcher’s bins. I’m not new, Condor.”

Sparrow never snapped, not at anyone. The sharpness in her tone belied the calmness of her features. It made my pulse spike, but there was nothing to be done for it. I nodded, not because I needed reassurance, but because she did.

Or maybe we both did.

I started to walk away, but her hand on my arm fixed me in place.

“Egret,” she began, then hesitated. “Do you . . . trust him?”

“To lie well? Yes,” I answered. “To behave? Not entirely. But he’ll get through it.”

“Right.” She let out a heavy sigh. “If they decide to detain him—”

“They won’t.”

She shot me a look. I knew it well. She didn’t believe that for a moment.

Neither did I.

We parted without ceremony. I headed for the tram, coat collar high, briefcase tucked under one arm, the city gray and frigid around me.

Everyone was somewhere now. Everyone was exposed.

Will was digging through false documents at the town hall, charming secretaries, dodging real questions with invented ones. Egret waltzed into the lion’s mouth—the cryptography division of the áVH, Hungary’s secret service—armed with nothing but a forged credential, a thousand facts about post-war cipher machines, and that grin that always landed just south of dangerous.

And Sparrow—she was the ghost in our story.

She watched the wall, watched the flyer.

She waited for a signal that might never come.