Page 48 of The Shadow Code (Heroes of War #3)

Her throat tightened. ‘I just wanted to matter,’ she said, voice cracking.

‘And you do,’ he murmured. He kissed her again, softer this time. Then he reached down beside the sofa for the briefcase and set it onto the table between them. ‘You need to see it now,’ he said. ‘Best to do it while you’re calm.’

Catherine blinked, unsettled. ‘Now?’

He lifted the book out and placed it in front of her, opening the cover. The object inside was matte black, squared at the edges, with a dial and a single switch.

‘No wires?’ she asked, her voice thin.

‘No need,’ Daniel said. He pointed. ‘This is the arm switch. You flick it left to start the countdown. Now, each click of this dial gives you ten minutes. Six clicks for one hour. You won’t need more than that.’

She didn’t speak, just stared at it, a cold silver dial that measured destruction in terms of time. Her stomach turned. ‘You said symbolic ,’ she whispered. ‘A shake-up. You said he’d live.’

‘And he will,’ Daniel said, calm as ever.

It’s smoke and sound, that’s all. Like fireworks, remember?

Frightening and dramatic but nothing fatal.

Power thrives on perception.’ He met her gaze.

‘They’ll remember the blast more than they’ll remember the war.

’ He set it down gently in front of her.

‘No one will blink. You’ll slip it into the vent and walk out. They’ll never know.’

Her hands clenched at her sides. ‘When?’

‘Friday,’ he said. ‘Churchill is away until then. We strike when the lion is in the den.’

Her breath caught. ‘What about the others?’ she asked, more sharply now. ‘The girls in Room 60. It’s a bunker. Smoke doesn’t just rise and vanish underground. It’ll linger. What if someone panics? Or can’t breathe?’

Daniel tilted his head, his voice still soft. ‘It’ll be no worse than a fireworks display in a school hall. Some noise, a bit of smoke, yes. But no harm. They’ll be startled, maybe frightened. But fine, nonetheless.’

She stared at the device. She pictured Jean with her flask of barley tea, Agnes with her nerves, and the supervisor, Mrs Williams. She was firm but fair. ‘They’re not part of this,’ she said quietly.

‘No,’ Daniel agreed. ‘No change ever comes without discomfort, Cat. And none of them will be hurt. You have my word.’

She turned away, feeling queasy.

‘I didn’t sign up for this.’

He laid a hand on her shoulder.

‘You wanted a future,’ he murmured. ‘And this is part of it.’

She sat there, frozen, the device between them like a third person in the room. ‘And after?’ she asked, her voice almost gone.

‘You’ll tell the guard you need the wash room. Walk out calmly, get your things and leave.’

She swallowed. ‘Just like that?’

‘Just like that,’ he said. ‘They’ll expect you to return. But by the time they notice …’

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. He kissed her hair, softly. ‘It must be you, Cat. You’re the only one who can get close,’ he whispered. ‘That’s the beauty of it. They’ll never see you coming.’

She didn’t answer.

He looked at her for a long moment. ‘You’ll do it beautifully. Now, I’ll go over it again.’

And he did. Twice more. Until she could recite it aloud.

‘Afterwards,’ he said, ‘you’ll need to disappear. Just for a while.’

She looked at him, dazed. ‘Where will I go?’

‘Grasmere,’ he said. ‘There’s a cottage tucked just beyond the village. Quiet lane, no close neighbours. The key’s under the terracotta flower pot beside the door.’

She blinked. ‘The Lake District?’

He nodded. ‘You’ll love it. It was my late grandmother’s house.

Wordsworth lived just along the lane. He’s buried in the graveyard in the centre of the village, you know.

’ He smiled faintly. ‘You can start a new life in the countryside. No one will find you. I’ve arranged a new identity for you. And I’ll join you in a week or so.’

Her throat ached. A cottage in the hills. A home. A future. He was offering her a life beyond this moment and all she had to do was hide a book in an air vent.

He placed the device back inside the briefcase then showed her the instructions he’d written out for her. ‘In case you need reminding,’ he said. ‘But you won’t.’

He reached up then, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and let his fingers linger against her jaw. Then he kissed her – softly, deliberately. A slow claim and she didn’t resist. Not because she believed him. But because she needed to believe someone .

Outside, London burned. The roar of planes had given way to the crackle of fire, the low thunder of collapsing buildings and the endless sirens of emergency vehicles and shouts from firefighters.

Inside, the silence held. Daniel lay beside her, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

He didn’t speak. But the corners of his mouth curved faintly, and she closed her eyes.

***

She had folded. Given herself to him, not out of love, not even out of belief, but because she couldn’t bear the weight of uncertainty alone. Because he offered certainty, and she needed something – anything – to hold on to.

***

The smoke still clung to the horizon. Granville stood at the window, dressed for the day, fastening gold cufflinks as he watched the sky pale above the rooftops.

The firestorm had moved east, licking at the edges of Whitechapel.

From this height, you could just make out the curve of the Thames.

London was quiet now. Bruised. But not broken.

That was always the problem with great cities. They believed survival was enough.

Behind him, Catherine slept with her knees drawn up, one hand curled near her cheek. The blanket had slipped from one shoulder. Her breathing was shallow. She’d cried a little after, in that drifting space between body and sleep. He hadn’t comforted her. There was no need. He’d already won.

He checked his watch. Quarter past five.

The car would be waiting at the side entrance.

Kingfisher’s man, discreet, no questions.

Just a name, a sealed envelope and clearance to vanish.

One step closer to the airfield. One step closer to a new life and a new identity.

He crossed to the desk, tore a slip from the hotel stationery and scribbled a note.

He folded it crisply, left it beside the half-finished glass on her bedside table.

She would take the device. He had no doubt.

The lonely ones were always the easiest. They hungered for purpose, for someone to tell them they mattered, and she had been starving for years.

He shrugged on his coat, adjusted the knot of his tie and paused once more at the window.

Dawn was breaking over London. In four days, Britain would break, too.

***

The bed was cold beside her when she woke and Catherine opened her eyes slowly. Her head was thick, mouth dry. She reached out, fingers brushing empty sheets. ‘Daniel?’ she called. No answer.

She sat up. The room was silent. Empty glasses stood on the drinks tray. His coat had gone from the chair. His gloves, too. Her stomach turned over. Then she saw the note. Folded neatly, next to the lamp. With trembling fingers, she opened it.

Cat,

You’ve done everything I hoped for. One final step, and you’re free.

Green Hollow Cottage, Grasmere. Just past the village, near the old chapel. The key’s under the terracotta pot beside the door. I’ll join you within the week.

Remember — Friday, midday. Be punctual. It has to be then.

Be brave. This changes everything.

D.

She stared at the single initial. Just D .

Not even his full name. It should have felt intimate.

Instead, it felt cold. Like a signature on a ledger, not a promise.

Her heart sank. No thank you . No be careful .

She stared at the paper for several seconds, like it might change if she looked hard enough.

Then she folded it, tucked it into her handbag.

Grasmere. The name alone felt like a breath of air in her tightening chest. He’d described it in such detail before they fell asleep last night.

A cottage past the village green with a large fireplace and an Aga that smoked unless you opened the flue just right.

Soft hills, open sky, silver water stretching into the dusk.

A future. He said he would meet her there in one week.

Part of her believed him. The other part doubted.

The book sat waiting on the table. She knelt beside it and laid her hand on top.

It didn’t look like much, but it was heavy.

Her throat tightened, and she sat back on her heels.

She could leave it. Take the train home.

Pretend none of this had happened. But then what?

Go back to typing letters and filing slips while the brass sat upstairs deciding who mattered and who didn’t?

People like her never made the lists. Not unless someone like Daniel put them there.

She thought of her dad sitting in that peeling hospital chair in Brixton, one leg gone, mind shattered. Abandoned by the country he’d fought for in 1914. No thanks. Just a couple of medals. Just as they forgot about her mother – and her.

But Daniel had seen her. Told her she was clever.

Said she could be part of something bigger that counted.

Her thoughts drifted to the bandage on his left arm.

A shallow graze, he’d said, brushing it off with that soft smile.

She hadn’t dared to press, not with the way his moods turned, but now the memory unsettled her.

How had he been hurt? And where had he gone, slipping out before dawn without a sound?

Doubt flickered, but so did hope. She stood up, smoothed her skirt, heart thudding like it already knew.

Whatever came next, it had to be worth the risk.

A Lakeland cottage. A name of her own. A life that finally belonged to her.

Catherine placed the book in her bag and left without a backward glance.