55

Thomas

I woke to the sound of nothing.

There were no gears grinding in the distance, no muttered prayers, no boots on stone. There was only the rustle of hay settling beneath me and the muted breath of those sleeping nearby. It took me a moment to remember where I was—what this stillness meant. I blinked into the pale light leaking through the barn’s planks, my breath curling in the cold like something trying to flee.

We were still in Hungary, still fugitives, but for the first time in weeks, I felt like we might have outrun the shadow.

My back ached from sleeping on the ground, and my shoulder pulsed in time with my heartbeat. The pain was dull now, not screaming. I’d grown used to it, but this morning it felt . . . contained. That had to be Will’s handiwork, I thought. The bandage wrapped snug around my wounded wing, holding everything together in a way I couldn’t.

I lay there for a while, watching the motes of dust swirl in the slant of dawn light. I didn’t feel hungover like one who’d partied the night away, but my head was far from clear. My body wanted to sleep again, to sink into the illusion that we were just travelers tucked in for warmth, but my fuzzy mind wouldn’t rest.

I turned my head.

Sparrow was curled near one of the far walls, her coat draped like a blanket around Eszter, who slept nearby. The girl lay in a knot of limbs, her arms pulled to her chest, her dark hair matted from sweat and hay. Even in sleep, she looked alert and ready to run.

No child should have to learn that instinct.

Egret was a few feet from them, slumped against a crate. His arm was tucked into his coat—an odd angle I knew meant he’d bandaged it awkwardly in the dark. When had he injured himself? How bad was it?

I’d ask later.

And Will—God—he was half sitting, half leaning against the barn post behind me, chin resting on his chest, mouth slightly open. He still held watch, even in sleep.

I moved my hand toward him, intending to reach, to reassure, but the movement twisted my shoulder and I winced, gritting my teeth. Pain snapped through me, jagged and immediate. I gasped through my nose and waited for the wave to pass. When it did, I pulled in a slow breath and forced myself upright, bit by bit, bones groaning in protest.

Will stirred.

His eyes blinked open and found me instantly. A mixture of panic and relief flashed across his face before he could smooth it away.

“Morning,” I rasped, my throat achingly dry.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he whispered.

“I was. I woke up. That’s how mornings work.”

His mouth quirked, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes.

“Pain?”

“Always.”

He shifted toward me, brushing the hay from my shoulders with fingers gentler than the wind. “Looks like the bandage held.”

“It’s a lot better than it was.” I nodded. “I actually slept last night, deep and dreamless. I’d almost forgotten how good a night’s rest feels.”

Will leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead. His lips were warm and gentle, the perfect salve for the aches that plagued me.

A soft groan came from the corner where Egret slept. He shifted beneath his coat, then hissed and swore under his breath. “Bloody nail,” he muttered, flexing his hand as he sat up. “Rust and splinters—just what I needed to make this spa weekend perfect.”

I gave him a look. He winked. His other hand clutched his bandaged palm, cradling it like a fragile egg. The gauze was no longer white or red. Blood had soaked it through and turned to a vile color somewhere between rust and oil.

Across the barn, Sparrow blinked herself awake. She stretched in slow, deliberate movements, brushing straw from her sleeves. Her eyes moved toward the bundled shape beside her. Eszter hadn’t stirred, her slight form still curled against Sparrow’s coat like a kitten in hiding.

She turned to Egret, her eyes finding his hand, her head shaking immediately. “Get the antiseptic and gauze.”

“Condor needs—”

“That wasn’t a request,” she said in the whip-crack tone only a mother could wield.

Egret’s head bowed as he turned and obeyed.

“She’s still out?” Will asked, nodding toward the girl.

Sparrow nodded. “Didn’t move all night.”

“She needed it,” Will said. “We all did.”

I turned to look. Farkas was slumped on the opposite side of the barn, partially covered by a rough wool blanket. One hand rested near the strange box he’d insisted on carrying since the night we fled. His face was slack in sleep, the lines of worry and genius smoothed by exhaustion.

Sparrow rose to her feet and padded over, careful not to wake either of them. She leaned down, adjusted Eszter’s collar, and smoothed her curls back from her cheek.

“She looks younger when she sleeps,” she murmured.

“She looks like the child she’s supposed to be,” I said.

A long silence followed, one of those heavy ones that hung between spies when no one wanted to name the thing sitting in the middle of the room.

We were all thinking it.

They were safe—for now, but they would be back in the soup before long.

We weren’t done yet.

Will rubbed his hands together for warmth, then spoke in a low voice. “We’ll move tonight. I scouted a path with Egret. There’s a clearing beyond the orchard line. It’s an old livestock trail, mostly overgrown.”

“How far to the river?” Sparrow asked.

“Less than ten kilometers if we follow it straight.”

“Assuming there’s no one waiting,” Egret added. He stood, rolling his shoulder with a grimace. “And assuming the girl can make the distance.”

I looked down at my bandaged shoulder, felt the pull and heat beneath the dressing, and said nothing, only thought that Eszter wasn’t the one he should be worried about.

Will and Sparrow pulled a handful of rations stuffed in our packs and handed them out. We had just enough to get across the border, assuming everything went according to plan. We were nearly out of water, though, and neither Will nor Egret had said anything about finding more. We’d have to remedy that.

Will’s feet shuffling across the floor brought my head up. There was something in his eyes, in the way he avoided my gaze. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something wasn’t right. He might’ve simply been worried about me, about my shoulder, but the look in his eyes was something more, something deeper. When they flicked to me, I saw . . . regret? What did he have to regret? Did he blame himself for me getting shot? That was ridiculous.

“Come sit next to me,” I said, suddenly needing to feel him near.

He sat and handed me a piece of tough dried meat.

“You okay?” I whispered.

He didn’t look at me. “Yeah, of course.”

There was a moment’s pause. He still didn’t turn.

“William,” I whispered, so low only he could hear. “Did you forget how I can read your mind?”

He grunted a laugh more filled with awkwardness than humor. “Really now?”

“Oh, yeah. Totally.” I nudged his foot with mine. “So, out with it. What’s got you so deep in thought this early in the morning?”

“You think you know me . . .” He turned, a coy grin on his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“I do. Better than anyone. Now talk before I tell everyone you secretly like to cross-dress as Eleanor Roosevelt.”

That earned another laugh, this time, a real one born somewhere deep in his belly. For the briefest moment, we were back in Paris, sitting at a table outside a café, just two men enjoying the morning and a wonderful, breathless love.

“Come on, Ellie, out with it.”

“God, I hate you.” He snorted and shook his head. Then his features smoothed, and all humor drained from his face. His eyes drifted to the far side of the barn, to a barren board where light peeked through. When he spoke, I could barely hear his words. “We can’t leave the machine to the Russians. You’re in no shape to do anything about it, and Sparrow is . . . Egret would never let her go, even if he’s too pigheaded to admit to the world how much he loves her. That leaves him and me.”

“Will—”

“Thomas.” His use of my name startled me into silence. “It has to be this way. I have to go. Egret can’t do this alone. At least, he shouldn’t have to, not when there’s another trained operative who can help him. This mission is too important to leave to chance. Two spies doubles the odds, whatever they are.”

In that moment, the pain in my shoulder vanished. More likely, I quit caring about it, because a far deeper, far more primal pain swelled within me.

“Absolutely not. Will . . . just . . . no. You can’t go, damn it. You can’t . . . you can’t leave me.” My last words were so choked I felt them break in my mouth, break like the heart in my chest, the one that I hadn’t felt beat since he’d spoken his plan aloud.

He scooted so we faced each other and took my hands in his. His eyes were so wide, so full of . . . Gods, he was tearing up. I felt wrecked. This couldn’t be happening. The Soviets would be swarming every corner of Budapest. They would have our images, our identities. They would be on the highest of alert, and when Stalin leaned into something, no one could escape his grasp.

If Will left, he would never come back. I knew it. I just . . . I just knew it.

His hand found my face, as it so often did, and I leaned into his touch.

“I will come back. I promise.”

The first tear fell, but I dared not release his hands to wipe it away.

“Why are you crying?” Eszter’s voice cut through the barn like a songbird trilling at dawn’s light. Neither of us had heard her stir or pad over to where we sat. How much had she heard?

We both turned, each of us blinking our own emotions away, swallowing them down.

“It’s nothing,” I lied. “Just . . . my shoulder. Emu was adjusting my bandage.”

“Your shirt is still buttoned, and you’re under a blanket,” she said.

Why did this girl have to be so damned smart?

My head drooped in surrender. Will reached out and gripped her shoulder. I expected him to say something about the sun coming up or getting breakfast or anything to distract this single-minded miniature human.

Instead, he chose the path of truth. “Do you know what your father’s machine does?”

She squinted, thinking, then nodded, “Of course, I do. It is Enigma, only better.”

Holy hell, she knew the name Enigma. What child . . . the child of an inventor, of course. I almost laughed. The whole thing was implausible.

“And do you know how important that is? How one country might use it against others?” Will persisted.

Eszter thought a moment. “It would let whoever has it know what everyone else is saying. That’s what Papa says.”

“And do you think that’s important?” Will asked.

She nodded.

“So do the Russians. In fact, it’s so important they kidnapped you and tried to force your father to complete his work and give it to them.”

Her face screwed up, and then . . . she laughed. It was the tinkling of a tiny bell that bounded against the wooden walls. Sparrow and Egret turned. Farkas stirred, sitting up to find his daughter.

Will cocked his head. “Why is that funny?”

She grinned. “He tricked them.”

“Who?”

“The Russians.”

Will shifted, spinning on his butt until he sat squared and eye-level with the girl.

“How did he trick them? I don’t understand.”

She huffed, as though all adults were idiots.

“He finished it. His fancy Enigma. He’s been done for months, but they don’t know that. Nobody does.”

“Dear God,” I whispered.

Sparrow and Egret stepped toward us.

Farkas rose from his spot. “Eszter—”

Will held up a palm, silencing the older man.

“Eszter, this is very important. Can you tell me that again? You said your father completed his machine. Does that mean it works? The machine the Russians have back in Budapest is functional? Do you understand what ‘functional’ means?”

She snorted again. “Of course I know that word. I’m a teenager, not an imbecile.”

She knew the word imbecile, too. Great.

“No, it isn’t functional .” She sounded out the last word as though it might bite her or try to fly away if she spoke it too quickly.

I leaned forward, ignoring the stabbing pain in my shoulder. “Eszter, I’m a little lost. Maybe it’s the drugs or my shoulder, but I don’t understand. Can you explain it to me? Use small words, okay?”

She grinned, appreciating my supplication to her superior intellect.

“He kept its heart. He always did. Or maybe it should be called its brain instead. I’m not sure.” Her brow furrowed as she considered. “Either way, he has the part that makes it all work. The rest is just a bunch of bolts and . . . gears? They’re called gears, aren’t they, Papa?”

When she glanced back, Farkas was on his feet and standing only a stride behind her. He kneeled down and smoothed her hair. “Yes, my beautiful, brilliant girl, they are gears.”

A gust of wind rattled a few loose boards of the barn.

A flock of birds flew close overhead, their screeches stabbing through the roof.

Will’s breathing grew quick and short, as though he’d just run for miles.

“Dr. Farkas,” I said, in a slow and measured tone. “Perhaps it’s time you told us more of your invention and its brain . . . or heart . . . whichever you prefer.”