Page 143 of The Words Beneath the Noise

Tom's hand had drifted back toward mine on the bed. Not touching. But close. Close enough that Finch couldn't miss it.

“Sir,” Tom started.

“I'm not finished.” Finch's voice sharpened, and we both went still. “Whatever personal arrangements exist between members of this facility are not my concern, so long as they don't compromise operational security. I've made that clear before. What I will say is this.”

He leaned forward, and his expression was deadly serious.

“Discretion is not optional. It's survival. The world outside these walls will not be kind to... unconventional attachments. The law is clear, and the consequences are severe.” His jaw tightened. “I've seen good men destroyed by carelessness. Byassuming that because they were among friends, they were safe. They weren't. They never are.”

The words landed like stones. I thought of Billy Marsh and Madam Fortuna's stories of raids and prison. The constant, grinding fear that lived in the bones of everyone like us.

“I'm not telling you how to live your lives,” Finch continued. “That's not my place and frankly not my interest. But I am telling you to be careful. To be smart. To never, ever assume that closed doors and drawn curtains are enough to protect you.” He stood, straightening his uniform with precise movements. “The war won't last forever. What you do when it ends is your own business. But until then, you're both valuable to this operation, and I'd rather not lose either of you to something as mundane as scandal.”

He moved toward the curtain, then paused.

“Pembroke. Your work during the raid was exceptional. The intelligence you provided while the bombs were still falling saved an estimated two hundred lives.” His voice was gruff, almost reluctant. “When you're recovered, you'll be reinstated with full clearance. No further investigation required.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And Hale.” Finch looked at Tom with something that might have been respect. “Whatever you're doing to keep him functional, keep doing it. He's more useful when he's not falling apart.”

Tom's mouth twitched. “I'll do my best, sir.”

“See that you do.” Finch pulled back the curtain, then stopped one final time. “One more thing. Both of you.”

We waited.

“My door is open. If you ever find yourselves in trouble you can't handle alone, come to me before it becomes a disaster. I'd rather manage a problem than clean up a catastrophe.” His expression was unreadable. “That's not permission to bereckless. It's acknowledgment that sometimes good people need help, and refusing to ask for it is its own form of stupidity.”

He left without waiting for a response.

The curtain swung closed behind him, and Tom and I sat in stunned silence.

“Did that just happen?” Tom asked finally.

“I think so.” I was still clutching the Black Book, still trying to process everything Finch had said. The warning. The advice. The implicit acknowledgment of what we were to each other, delivered in his own gruff, roundabout way.

“He knows.”

“He's always known. Or suspected.” I looked at Tom, at his exhausted face and worried eyes and the stubborn set of his jaw. “But he's choosing not to destroy us with it.”

“Why?”

“Because we're useful. Because the war needs us.” I paused, thinking about Finch's face when he'd talked about good men destroyed by carelessness. “Or maybe because he understands something about impossible situations. About doing what you have to do to survive.”

Tom reached out, took my hand properly this time. His fingers were warm and rough and exactly right.

“He told us to be careful.”

“He did.”

“Are we going to listen?”

I thought about it. About the risks, the dangers, the thousand ways this could end in disaster. About the world outside these walls that wanted people like us erased.

Then I thought about Tom's face when he'd told me he loved me. About the life he'd described, waking up beside each other when the nightmare was over. About hope, stubborn and irrational, choosing to believe things could be better than they were.

“We're going to be careful,” I said slowly. “But we're not going to stop. I can't go back to pretending you don't matter, Tom. I've tried that. It doesn't work.”