Page 21 of The Shadow Code (Heroes of War #3)

E llie was halfway through filing a stack of witness statements when Lilian appeared at the corner of her desk.

‘Walk with me,’ she said, the sharpness in her voice making it clear this wasn’t a request.

Ellie’s stomach dropped. What now? She wiped her hands on her skirt and followed.

They crossed the hall in silence but for Lilian’s heels tapping a steady rhythm on the tiled floor, passing through the frosted-glass doors and into one of the small interview rooms usually reserved for internal meetings.

Jack Stratton was already there, leaning against the far wall, arms folded, his expression unreadable.

Ellie’s breath caught as her heart leapt in her chest. A smile tugged at her mouth, but he didn’t return it.

His jaw was tight, his gaze cool, almost distant, and the warmth died instantly.

What’s wrong? After the other night when he’d tended her wound, stayed close as the walls came down around them.

Had she misread everything? The way he’d looked at her, the things he’d said …

Or did he regret it now, in the harsh light of day?

He looked irritated, almost angry. Jack Stratton and his damn moods.

The door clicked shut behind them.

‘Take a seat, Eleanor,’ Lilian instructed, sitting opposite her.

Ellie’s mind raced as she sat down. Why is Jack here? What have I done? She ran through the last few days – the bombing, their conversation afterwards, her visit to Pa. Nothing stood out as particularly damning. So why did this feel like an interrogation?

‘You’ve been noticed,’ Lilian said, getting straight to the point.

She frowned. ‘Noticed by whom?’

‘By people above my pay grade,’ Lilian said with a slight smile. ‘And Mr Stratton’s, too.’

Jack straightened. ‘There’s a job that needs doing. Work you’re already halfway tangled in.’

Lilian slid a slim folder across the table. ‘Temporary consultant status,’ she said. ‘MI5. Limited clearance. You’ll report to Mr Stratton.’

Ellie’s fingers hovered over the folder.

It felt like a bolt from the ether – clean, sudden, impossible to trace.

A week ago she’d been driving Calloway around London and testing his patience.

Now this. Consultant status . MI5 . Limited clearance .

There had to be some mistake. She wasn’t ready for this.

Wasn’t qualified. She was an auxiliary constable with a good nose for detail and a stubborn streak – that hardly made her spy material. Why now? Why her?

Her mind snagged on the bodies – Templeton’s throat slit in an alley.

Lambert killed with a bullet to the heart.

Then her father. If anything happens to me, you’ll know where to look.

Was he somehow involved? Or was he next?

She swallowed, her pulse tapping at the base of her throat.

Nothing made sense. Unless someone, somewhere, had already decided it didn’t have to.

‘Why me?’ she asked, finally.

Jack and Lilian exchanged a glance.

‘You’re clever,’ Jack said. ‘You see things others miss.’

‘And you’re already involved,’ Lilian added. ‘Think of it as an opportunity to do more, something that matters.’

Ellie looked between them, the weight of it settling. Surely Lilian didn’t mean that. This work here matters . This wasn’t just about murder, or the cipher. It was about her father, the classified project he refused to speak about. And perhaps, somewhere amongst it all, a traitor lay in wait.

She opened the folder slowly. Typed orders. A War Office seal on the Official Secrets Act, which she was to sign. A chill traced down her spine.

‘If I refuse?’ she asked, voice steady.

Jack shrugged. ‘You could. But you won’t.’

Ellie closed the folder with a soft thud. ‘All right. What do you need me to do?’

Lilian exchanged a glance with Jack, then said, ‘You’ll be assisting with case material; cipher analysis, reports, that sort of thing.’

She blinked. ‘In the office?’

Jack’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. ‘You can’t possibly think you can work in the field with me.’

‘I thought I was needed to do something useful.’

‘Oh, you will be.’ His tone shifted to become faintly mocking. ‘Trust me, there’ll be plenty to work on at the office.’

Ellie sat back in her chair. So, that was it.

Brought in but boxed in. Cipher work and paper trails.

Tucked safely behind a desk where she couldn’t cause trouble.

Jack’s face shone with a certain victory, but she received the message loud and clear.

This wasn’t a partnership, it was containment. We’ll see about that .

She sat up tall. ‘When do I start?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Lilian said. ‘St James’s Street. Nine sharp.’ She leaned in closer to Ellie and said in a hushed voice, ‘They’ll use you if they must. Just make sure they don’t break you.’ Then she pressed a hand to Ellie’s arm briefly; a small gesture of reassurance, perhaps.

Jack held the door for her as she stepped back into the Yard’s noisy, familiar chaos. But the world already felt different. As Lilian walked off, Ellie returned to her desk and Jack followed.

He lingered silently, then offered a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘You all right?’

She arched a brow. ‘Suddenly concerned?’

He exhaled through his nose, as if trying not to rise to her bait. ‘I meant what I said in there. You’re clever. You’re useful.’

‘Oh, thank you so much,’ she said, her voice syrupy. ‘What an honour to be useful.’ The word tasted bitter. After everything they’d been through.

Jack’s jaw tensed. ‘You wanted in.’

‘I didn’t ask to be muzzled.’ Heat flashed through her veins. How dare he stand there, so distant, when two nights ago he’d been anything but?

‘It’s protocol.’

Ellie stood, pushing her chair back with a sharp scrape. ‘You and I both know I’m more useful in the field than locked in a broom cupboard.’ She heard the edge creeping into her voice, but she didn’t care.

He looked at her for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, tighter. ‘You’re useful, Harcourt. But you’re not invincible. You have to learn to walk before you can run.’

The condescension in his tone made her stomach clench. ‘You’re not my keeper.’

His face tightened, and for a moment she glimpsed the rawness underneath – hurt, maybe – before he shuttered it away. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘Lucky me.’

Then he turned and left, leaving Ellie standing alone in the dim light, her fists clenched and her heart thudding hard.

The dismissal stung more than it should have.

After the intimacy they’d shared, after she’d let herself believe there was a real connection between them, he’d just shut her out.

Two years ago, she’d been the one to walk away from him.

Now the tables had turned, and it hurt more than she’d expected.

Walk before you can run, he’d said. She’d spent years strolling through their world. Now she was ready to sprint.

***

Later that afternoon, Lilian met Ellie in one of the smaller interview rooms off the main corridor. An ominously thick manila folder sat on the table, its corners crisp and square.

‘This won’t take long,’ she said, gesturing for Ellie to sit. ‘Standard procedure.’

She eased into the chair as Lilian opened the folder and slid a single sheet of paper across to her – fine print, an official heading bearing the War Office seal.

‘The Official Secrets Act.’ She offered her a fountain pen. ‘You are not to discuss any aspect of your new duties with anyone outside the operation. That includes your housemates. Your colleagues. Even your parents.’

‘I understand,’ Ellie said softly.

‘You will be asked to do difficult things. You will learn more than most. And you will carry all of it in silence.’

Ellie hesitated, then signed her name with steady, looping letters.

As Lilian took the document back and slipped it into the folder, there was a brief knock at the door. Inspector Calloway entered wearing a softer expression than normal.

‘Sir,’ Ellie said, rising instinctively.

He nodded, eyes scanning her face. ‘So it’s true. They’ve pinched you for something hush-hush.’

Lilian’s mouth twitched. ‘She’s been seconded, not abducted.’

Calloway huffed, then turned his attention to Ellie. ‘I suppose I’m meant to say, “well done” and not ask a damn thing about it.’

‘That would be safest,’ Lilian replied.

Calloway gave a slow nod. Then, after a beat: ‘You’re a good copper, Harcourt. Better than most. Don’t let those pen-pushers bury you in paperwork.’

Ellie smiled. ‘I’ll do my best, sir.’

He stepped back and strode off down the corridor without another word.

Lilian folded her arms. ‘Remember, tomorrow at St James’s Street. Nine sharp. Mr Stratton will brief you.’

Ellie nodded, rising from the chair. She hesitated by the door.

‘Anything else?’ Lilian asked.

Ellie glanced back at the empty chair, the desk, the now-closed folder. The ordinary world was still here but she wouldn’t be part of it anymore.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Just … thank you.’

***

Back at the house, notes of Chanel No.5 greeted her in the hallway. One of the girls had helped herself – yet again – to Ellie’s exclusive perfume. Still, they all mucked in and shared things.

She headed to her room and stood in front of her wardrobe, arms folded. No more uniform, just … clothes. Civilian clothes. She hadn’t realised how much she’d relied on the simplicity of routine, of buttons and brass and black leather gloves. Now, everything felt exposed.

She reached for her mackintosh. Beige, sharply cut and slightly too stylish for a WPC.

She slipped it off the hanger and held it up, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Well, that’s subtle, she thought. All I need is a cigarette and a secret code, and I’ll be mistaken for a spy in a West End thriller.

Ellie shook her head, put the coat on and then turned back to the mirror.

She looked … ordinary. A woman in a coat between worlds, not quite MI5 or New Scotland Yard.

Lizzie appeared in the doorway, gripping a pair of hairpins between her teeth. ‘What are you up to?’

Ellie glanced at her reflection again. ‘I’ve been reassigned,’ she said lightly. ‘Temporary posting. Bit hush-hush.’

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. ‘What, you and Churchill off to foil the next invasion?’

‘Something like that,’ Ellie said with a smirk. ‘They needed someone to chase down the paper trail.’

‘You’ll be bored in three days.’

Ellie shrugged. ‘Probably. But it’s only for a little while.’

Lizzie gave her a look, one that said this isn’t the whole story, and I know it , but let it go. ‘Well, you look the part. Very Mata Hari.’

‘Less seduction, more filing cabinets.’

‘Shame.’ She paused in the doorway. ‘Did you hear about St Paul’s? They finally dug out that unexploded bomb. Three whole days it sat there in Dean’s Yard. It could have gone off at any time.’

‘Thank God it didn’t.’

‘Mm. Margaret at work says they’re calling it a miracle. All those people praying every night at nine. Maybe someone’s listening after all.’

She disappeared again, humming. Ellie slipped off the coat, her thoughts returning to the lies she’d already begun telling, but there was no going back.