Page 33 of The Words Beneath the Noise

I thought about my own sister, Rose. Her blunt letters full of complaints about rationing and near-misses with bombs. The way she'd signed off every one withDon't get killed, you idiot. Love, R.

“Family's important,” I said. “Especially now.”

“Yes.” His voice had gone thoughtful. “Do you have siblings?”

“Sister and brother. Rose and Alfie. Both in London.”

“Are they safe?”

“Safe as anyone is. Rose is stubborn as hell. Alfie's got weak lungs, so they kept him out of the fighting.” I realised I was talking more than I usually did, offering information I normally kept close. Something about Art made me want to fill the silence with truth instead of deflection. “Rose writes. Tells me I'm an idiot for joining up. Tells me to come home in one piece or she'll kill me herself.”

“She sounds formidable.”

“She is. You'd like her. She doesn't suffer fools.”

“Then she'd hate me. I'm often quite foolish.”

“No.” I turned from the window to look at him properly. “You're not foolish. You're just different. There's a difference.”

He met my eyes, and something passed between us. Recognition, maybe. The kind that came from knowing what it was like to be the odd one, the one who didn't fit, the one who'd learned to hide essential parts of themselves just to survive.

“Thank you,” he said again, but this time it meant something different. Not just gratitude for the notebook. Gratitude for seeing him.

The library door opened.

I was moving before I'd consciously decided to, positioning myself between Art and whoever was coming through. Protective instinct. The kind that got you killed if you weren't careful.

But it was just Ruth and Noor, both looking worried and slightly out of breath.

“Art.” Ruth's voice carried relief and exasperation in equal measure. “We've been looking everywhere. You disappeared after dinner and no one knew where you'd gone.”

Noor spotted me and raised an eyebrow. “Sergeant Hale. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Ladies.” I stepped aside, letting them see Art properly. “He's alright. Just needed some quiet.”

Ruth crossed to Art immediately, crouching beside his chair the way I had earlier. Her hand found his shoulder, grip firm and grounding. “What happened? You look like you've been crying.”

“I lost something. Tom found it.” Art's voice was steadier now, but I could see the effort it cost him. “I'm fine. Really.”

“You're not fine. You're shaking.” Ruth looked up at me, dark eyes sharp with assessment. “What did you do?”

“Found his notebook. Returned it. That's all.”

“That's all.” She didn't sound convinced. “And you just happened to be in the library at the same time he was having a breakdown?”

“I was looking for him. Thought he'd want it back before he tore the estate apart searching.”

Noor had moved to Art's other side, perching on the arm of his chair with the casual intimacy of long friendship. “You found his notebook and you didn't read it? That thing is more closely guarded than the Enigma machine. I'm impressed.”

“It wasn't mine to read.”

“No. It wasn't.” Noor studied me with an expression I couldn't parse. “Most people wouldn't have cared about that.”

“I'm not most people.”

Ruth and Noor exchanged a look. The kind of look that suggested entire conversations happening in silence, years of friendship compressed into a single glance.

“Art,” Ruth said carefully, “do you want us to stay? Or would you rather...”