Page 5

5

Will

T he rain had started up again, tapping against the windowpane like impatient fingers. Everything in Paris sounded like secrets when it rained. The streets outside our flat were slick, the lamps casting lazy, gold-tinted reflections that stretched toward the gutters.

I tossed another shirt into my suitcase, trying to ignore the angst clawing at my ribs.

Thomas was moving through the space, folding things with military precision, pressing the weight of the mission into every neatly creased line. He never let himself think when he packed. I did the opposite.

“This whole thing feels rushed,” I muttered, stuffing a pair of gloves into the side pocket.

“We’re spies. It’s always rushed. Call it an occupational hazard,” Thomas said without looking up. He was rolling up a belt, slotting it next to his folded trousers.

He was too fucking calm.

“No,” I said, snapping my case shut, “this is different. We don’t have contingencies. There’s no extraction plan if things go sideways, no real contact on the ground except some barely verified Hungarian asset Manakin thinks still exists, and we’re supposed to waltz in, convince Farkas to betray everything he’s ever known, and walk him out like it’s a weekend in the country? With his teenage daughter? And a fancy machine the size of a barn?”

“It’s more the size of a small desk. Farkas improved on the anti-Enigma design.”

“That helps so much.” Sarcasm dripped from my lips. “I bet it only weighs half a ton.”

Thomas paused.

Only for a second.

But I saw it.

“We’ve handled worse,” he said.

I let out a sharp laugh. “Have we? Because I don’t remember ‘winging it in Soviet-occupied Budapest’ being on our list of successful operations.”

“Paris? Berlin? Fuck me—Holland? Have you forgotten the part where we actually launched ourselves out of a submarine in inflatable canoes?” Thomas smirked. “You worry too much, Will.”

“Someone has to,” I shot back.

He sighed, turning to look at me, arms crossed. God, he was sexy when he did that.

“It’s last-minute, yeah. It’s not perfect, but it’s not impossible.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not a bad idea.”

“It’s always a bad idea,” he countered. “That’s the job. They don’t need us for the good ideas.”

He smirked, as though that last bit were a joke. I tried to smile, but my lips refused to budge. I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling.

He wasn’t wrong.

But there was something about this one that sat wrong in my gut, like a blade pressed too close to the skin. I glanced at the rain-speckled window, watching the streetlights flicker in the downpour. We were already ghosts in this city. Soon, we’d be ghosts in another.

“And what about Egret and Sparrow?” I asked after a moment.

Thomas let out a breath that was far too controlled as he clicked his suitcase shut.

“What about them?”

“Oh, don’t start.” I snorted, losing the last of my thinly veiled composure. “You saw how they were acting.”

Thomas rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sparrow was quiet. Egret was insufferable—so, normal?”

“Sparrow was more than quiet,” I said, frowning. “She curled in on herself during the briefing. I’ve never seen her do that before.”

Thomas hesitated. Barely.

“And Egret’s usual brand of insufferable was dialed up to eleven. He was spoiling for a fight.”

“Egret is always spoiling for a fight.”

“Not like that,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Something’s going on between them, and don’t pretend you didn’t notice, because I know you did. You see everything, Thomas Jacobs.”

Thomas exhaled through his nose, then sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples. “It’s complicated.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He gave me a pointed look. “It’s the only one you’re getting.”

I flopped onto the bed beside him, staring up at the ceiling.

“Are they together? Were they? Is Egret still pining? Or is he pissed because she’s over it?”

Thomas smirked. “You really can’t stand not knowing something, can you?”

“I like knowing when the people covering my back aren’t about to have a lovers’ spat in the middle of a mission . . . in occupied fucking Hungary. So, yeah, I can’t stand it.”

Thomas shook his head, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Sparrow’s not the type to let personal matters impede the job.”

“No,” I agreed, “but Egret is. He’s a hothead, and you know it.”

Silence stretched between us, long and unspoken.

Finally, Thomas sighed, running a hand through his hair. “They were close. Once. Close doesn’t always mean the same thing to two people, and sometimes, people let go at different speeds.”

“And Egret is still holding on?”

Thomas didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

I blew out a sharp breath. “Well. That’s not going to be a problem at all.”

“They’ll be fine,” Thomas said, standing again. “They always are.”

I huffed. I didn’t believe that for a second. I doubted Thomas did.

We lapsed into quiet, both of us packing up the last of our things, preparing to step out of this life and into another. I moved to fasten my wristwatch, but before I could, Thomas grabbed me.

It was quick—one hand on my shirtfront, the other at my waist—pulling me in before I even had a chance to react.

Then his mouth was on mine.

Not desperate. Not urgent. Just firm and certain.

It was the kind of kiss that reminded you of everything you were—and everything you had to lose.

His fingers curled against my side as he pulled back just enough to murmur against my lips, “Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

I let out a quiet, breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“You do realize you are the one who keeps getting captured and shot, right?”

He smirked, but his fingers didn’t loosen.

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

I exhaled, pressing my forehead against his for a moment.

“Fine. I promise . . . but you have to promise the same.”

Thomas pulled back just enough to cock an eyebrow.

“You think I wouldn’t?”

“I think you have a bad habit of nearly dying in my arms,” I shot back.

He sighed, dramatic. “Once.”

“Twice.”

“That second time doesn’t count.”

“Because?”

“Because I lived.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I pulled away and grabbed my suitcase.

“Come on,” I said, nudging him. “We’ve got a train to catch.”

Thomas smirked, grabbing his bag.

“After you, Mr. Calloway.”