Page 47 of The Shadow Code (Heroes of War #3)

Outside the window, London flickered past; grey stone, blackout shutters, laundry strung like bunting between buildings. A boy stood atop a mound of rubble where houses had once stood, waving a home-made Union Jack flag. She watched until he vanished from view.

At Green Park, she emerged into the wind.

Traffic rumbled along Piccadilly, but there were fewer cars now.

More bicycles. A patrol passed on foot – two wardens in steel helmets, one carrying a clipboard.

She crossed the road quickly and entered the park.

The grass was clipped short, the flower beds bare, but someone was still tending the soil near the east gates – an elderly man in a greatcoat, digging with quiet determination.

Victory gardens, Catherine had learned, were a kind of defiance.

A seed planted despite everything. Feed a nation. Defy Hitler.

She clutched her gas mask tighter as she walked the perimeter, keeping to the path, shoes crunching on gravel. Above the trees, two silver barrage balloons floated like tethered ghosts over the Thames, their bellies bloated in the smoke-hazed sky.

Then she spotted Daniel up ahead, sitting on a bench near the centre path, legs crossed, reading a newspaper like any other civil servant killing time before supper. When he saw her, he rose with smooth precision, brushing a stray leaf from his coat sleeve.

A warm smile creased his clean-shaven face. ‘Five o’clock on the dot,’ he said after a swift glance at his watch. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, soft as linen. ‘Did you have a restful day?’ he asked, falling into step beside her as they began a slow circuit towards the deeper paths.

‘I tried, but I couldn’t sit still.’

‘Good. Tomorrow you won’t have to.’

The tension in her chest hadn’t eased since yesterday. ‘I didn’t want to meet here,’ she murmured.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I needed to see you, to go over the plan.’

Catherine flinched. ‘Is that the only reason?’

He smiled faintly. ‘You know it isn’t, Cat.’ He brushed her cheek with a fingertip, then took her hand in his. ‘You worry too much.’

He stopped by the park bench and sat down, opening his briefcase. Catherine sat beside him. Inside, nestled among papers, lay a thick black hardback book.

‘You’ll carry this into the War Rooms,’ he said softly, lifting it out.

The moment her fingers closed around it, she knew. Too heavy and dense. It wasn’t a book at all, and bile rose in her throat.

‘There’s a loose grate in the air duct just beyond the map room. Slip it in there if you can. No one will know.’

Her fingers trembled slightly. ‘What’s inside?’

He met her gaze evenly. ‘A signal device. Swiss made. Like a clock, only louder.’

Her brows furrowed.

‘It makes a bang, that’s all. A crack, like fireworks, some smoke. Just enough to shake the plaster and rattle the nerves. It’s theatre, Cat. Not a weapon.’

She stared at the book. ‘You’re sure?’

He hesitated a moment too long. Then his voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Would I let you carry it, if it were truly dangerous?’

That stopped her. But the way he looked at her, like she was brave, chosen and vital, drowned the warning bell in her chest. This was trust, wasn’t it? She swallowed, and the question dissolved on her tongue.

‘I believe in you,’ he added, his voice even softer now. ‘You’re stronger than you think. And this is your moment.’

Then, like a cue, the air raid siren cut through the air. Catherine turned her head sharply. A couple with a pram hurried towards the nearest shelter. A WVS woman ushered two schoolboys down stone steps with brisk authority. Others ran to the shelters, some for the doorways of nearby buildings.

The light changed and the shadows lengthened, and then the first rumble interrupted the practised chaos, groaning like a train in the belly of the earth. Catherine turned to him. ‘We should go to the Underground.’

He shook his head. ‘Too late for that. You’ll be safer with me.’

‘Where?’

He offered his arm. ‘Come on.’

***

The lobby was empty, but the concierge hadn’t blinked when Daniel strode in, leading Catherine by the hand as the siren squealed at their backs.

The Ritz remained a kingdom of hush, polished marble and chandeliers.

He led her up the sweeping staircase to his suite on the upper floor.

And when he opened the door and she walked inside, her mouth dropped open.

She had never seen anything so opulent as this in her life.

‘What do you think?’ He grinned at her.

A warm flush crept up her cheeks. ‘It’s lovely.’

The suite was quiet, almost reverent. Polished walnut panelling lined the walls, and the carpet, thick and ornate in a swirl of burgundy and gold, muffled their steps.

Heavy silk curtains framed the tall windows, the blackout lining stitched behind them just visible at the seams. Anti-blast tape zigzagged across the panes in stark pale crosses.

The sitting room held two low-backed sofas in peach damask, a single wingback chair by the wireless and a brass drinks cart glinting beside the fireplace. The Times and The Sketch lay untouched on the glass-topped table.

Catherine moved to the window. Beyond the rooftops and the smoky sprawl of the city, she could just make out the faint shimmer of the dome of St Paul’s on the horizon, the golden ball catching the last light. It seemed impossibly far away, yet always watching.

Daniel slipped off his gloves, unhurried. ‘You’re cold,’ he said, crossing to the sideboard. He poured whisky into cut crystal, and the glass caught the lamplight like fire.

The drone of aircraft grew louder, almost thunderous. ‘Shouldn’t we be in the shelter?’ Her heart raced as she wondered where the bombers would hit. Seeking courage, she sipped the whisky, which flared like fire in her throat.

He closed in behind her. ‘Don’t worry. I rarely use it. We’ll be quite safe here.’

She glanced at him, noting the knowing look in his eyes.

How can he be so sure? Turning back to the window, she watched.

They dropped the incendiaries first, to light the path.

The next wave brought the big bombs. Craning her neck to see, she watched a swarm of dark shapes closing in from the east. She swallowed, waiting, heart thumping harder than ever.

She had heard of people refusing to head into the shelters, instead taking refuge in their homes – for the last time.

You never knew where the bombs would fall, unless …

She glanced at Daniel, who watched with a smug expression, then she downed the whisky in one gulp.

Turning back to the view outside, she saw the first wisps of black smoke twisting in the air further east, as the city dimmed into twilight.

Catherine’s breath fogged the glass as she leaned closer.

Below, rooftops shimmered red where incendiaries had struck.

It was like watching the city smoulder from inside a snow globe.

Daniel stepped behind her, arms sliding around her waist. She stiffened as he rested his chin lightly on her shoulder.

‘You’re shaking,’ he murmured, his arms tightening around her.

She leaned into the window again, heart climbing. The next wave was upon them, their wings catching the last red blush of sunset as they passed through the smoke. Catherine froze. The sky glowed orange, fires leaping across the skyline like torches passed from hand to hand.

Then came the crump … One explosion after another.

The shockwaves reached them seconds later, rattling the glass.

One particularly close blast rattled the chandelier.

One of the planes – a Dornier, according to Daniel – was lower than the others, skimming so close she could make out the cockpit.

The black cross on its flank gleamed like an accusation and she stumbled backward.

‘My God,’ she whispered. ‘They’re right over us.’

‘They don’t hit the same sector twice in a night. They’re heading home,’ he said softly.

As the last bomber passed overhead, cutting a graceful arc, Catherine stared after it, heart hammering. She had never seen the enemy so close. Never imagined how human the machine could feel when it loomed above you, a direct threat.

She watched as the city stood burning. And here I am with him. Safe, untouched, but still trembling.

She stepped back from the window, pulse still skittering, the drone of engines echoing in her ears even after they’d gone.

Daniel took the glass from her unsteady hand and set it down gently.

Then, with the same casual authority that he always wore like a second skin, he guided her to the sofa and sat beside her, their knees nearly touching.

She didn’t resist. The cushions sank beneath her weight.

The warmth of the room, the whisky, the touch of his hand, all blurred together, muffling the sharp edges of her fear.

Daniel turned to her, his voice low, fingers brushing softly over hers. ‘You’re not destroying anything. You’re changing the game. Churchill will survive. But the signal we send is what matters. The world needs to see that Britain is not invincible.’

She shook her head. ‘That’s not what I signed up for.’

He leaned in, the space between them narrowing until she could feel the breath of his words on her cheek. ‘You signed up for a future with me.’

The words landed like snowflakes. His hand moved with practised ease, sliding over her wrist, then curling around it, his thumb gently brushing the inside where her pulse stuttered.

But he didn’t let go. The grip wasn’t hard, but it was firm.

Fixed and quietly obsessive. A touch that said: I choose when this ends.

She stared at him. His eyes, dark as ever, didn’t blink. She wanted so desperately to believe there was something real in them. That this wasn’t just a performance.

‘Cat,’ he whispered, ‘you’re not like them. You see things. You know what’s coming. You want to be on the right side of history.’