Page 22

22

Egret

S parrow sat with her back to the fire, chin in her hand, her eyes fixed on the untouched wineglass in front of her. She looked like she’d been carved out of worry and stubbornness. I could see the weight in her shoulders from across the room.

Will saw me first. His brow lifted in that disbelieving, infuriating, “Where the hell have you been?” way that only he could manage while still looking like he might hug you. Thomas, of course, didn’t move. He just looked up, cold and still, already calculating what my entrance meant, what I’d done wrong.

I stepped inside.

Every inch of me hurt. The fabric of my shirt pulled on one shoulder. My ribs protested with every breath, and my fingers were still tingling from the way I’d had to brace myself in that goddamn utility closet.

But I smiled anyway.

“Did I miss dessert?”

Three sets of eyes gaped. They were three different shades of fury, relief, and fear.

Will blinked. Thomas didn’t. Sparrow held her breath.

“Jesus, Egret,” Will muttered, standing halfway.

“Sit down, Emu,” I said. “You’ll make a scene.”

He didn’t sit.

I slid into the fourth chair like I wasn’t dying inside, like the whole day hadn’t folded me in half.

“Well?” Sparrow’s voice was quiet. Lethal.

“I’m fine.”

The scowl that formed on her face said she didn’t believe me, not for a second.

I poured myself a glass of wine from the bottle still sitting on the table, took a sip, and let it burn all the way down.

“They kept me longer than expected,” I said. “My tail didn’t shake until an hour ago, and the man who lost me? He didn’t look happy about it.”

That bought a little silence.

I set my glass down and looked across the table at Sparrow. She hadn’t moved, but she watched everything I did.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” I said, trying to keep the weariness from my voice.

“But you did,” Will said.

Sparrow’s eyes fell to her lap.

That landed harder than anything else.

“Why don’t you tell us about your day,” Thomas said, as though asking about a child’s time at school. “The waiter can bring you dinner if you’re hungry.”

“God, I’m starved,” fell out before I had time to think. “They brought me into a conference room. There were two officers, one uniformed, one . . . not.”

Thomas’s brow tightened.

I continued, “They didn’t believe my credentials were real, but they couldn’t prove they weren’t, and they didn’t want to make a mistake.”

“So they tested you,” Will said.

“Hard questions, theory, history, terminology—everything a pro in the space should know. Then they pulled out diagrams I was certain I wasn’t supposed to have seen.”

“Did you recognize any of it?” Thomas asked.

“One piece. It looked like a preliminary concept of the Farkas machine—or something inspired by it. It was crude, but dangerous enough if they get the rest.”

The table went quiet again.

I leaned back in my chair, pressing a hand to my side like I could hold myself together.

“They kept me for hours, searched my bag twice, asked about every stamp in my passport. Then they had me sit in a room with no clock, just a humming light and a window with blinds that didn’t close.”

“Interrogation without the bruises,” Will said.

“Not all without,” I said, and let my shirt shift just enough for them to see the purple mass blooming across my ribs.

Sparrow’s fingers gripped her wineglass so tightly I thought it might break.

“They didn’t hit me,” I added. “Just made sure the doorframe was lower than it looked.”

We sat in a silence that wasn’t quiet.

It pulsed with everything we weren’t saying.

“Anyway,” I said, sipping again, “How was your day? Break any communist hearts, Emu?”

Will smirked. “Only my own. They’re impervious.”

“Condor?”

“I’m still alive,” he said.

I turned toward the person I cared most about. “Sparrow?”

She didn’t answer.

She just stared at me. Her eyes were too full, too loud, too everything .

I let my smile fade.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, reaching out and taking her hand. She gripped my fingers with the strength of a thousand Soviet agents. “Next time I’ll bring flowers.”

She stood up so fast her chair scraped the floor. I thought she was leaving, storming out in the wake of whatever turmoil my tale had caused. She didn’t. She simply walked around the table, crouched beside me, and touched my face.

“Next time,” she said, “don’t be late.”

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She kissed my temple, just once, then sat back down and drank deeply from her wineglass.

“Don’t be late?” Will said, blinking at Sparrow. “That’s all you’re going to say? I had my seat belt buckled and popcorn ready. Hell, woman, talk about the definition of anticlimactic.”

“No shit,” Thomas added, his fucking smirk painting his lips. “If I pulled a stunt like this, Emu would’ve already thrown his silverware at me.”

“I would never—” Will’s eyes bugged.

Thomas laughed, a rich, full sound I knew was genuine.

Even Sparrow released her tension long enough to enjoy the banter—and despite everything, she reached over, grabbed my hand, and refused to let it go.