Page 37 of Shadowfox

“I get it,” I said. “Dr. Beckett is like that, too.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm. He acts like he’s made of stone, but if I cough in the middle of the night, he’s up like the bloody Queen’s Guard.”

Sparrow smiled, then nudged me. “And what about you two? Have you—?”

“Oh please,” I said with a dramatic sigh. “We are practically married. We argue about who made the tea too strong. We’re very domestic, even when . . . traveling.”

“Do you ever get time together?”

“Only between disasters.” I grinned. “But we make do.”

She laughed, the sound bubbling out of her like she’d been holding it in for months.

For a moment, we were just two friends whispering about stolen kisses and creaky hotel beds, giggling like teenagers hiding behind the gym. Except the gym was a Soviet-run comm yard, and the principal had a revolver.

A sharp whistle echoed from somewhere beyond our view.

Thomas’s signal. Time to reconvene.

I straightened my coat, glanced at Sparrow, and softened my voice.

“Be careful,” I said. “People in love tend to make stupid mistakes.”

She met my gaze. “So do people afraid of losing it.”

That was fair.

And far too close to the mark.

We strode back in together, two professionals, shoulders squared, but our steps were lighter, our eyes just a little warmer than before.

The sun was already sagging against the rooftops by the time we wrapped up our “inspection” of the switching yard, the final rays casting a pale sheen over the cracked concrete and rust-flecked stairwells.

We’d walked the perimeter three times, asked just enough technical questions to satisfy any observers, and smiled through hours of guided nothing. The Hungarians had prepared an hours-long presentation in which we sat around a conference table and struggled to remain awake while an elderly man droned about electrical currents or the effect of bird shit on power lines—I wasn’t sure which. Thomas made a show of scribbling a list of “recommendations” into his notebook, which I’m fairly certain included several recipes for potato soup just to see if anyone would notice.

When we finally stepped outside the facility’s gates and onto the quiet street beyond, I could feel the four of us exhale, like we’d been holding our breath in sync. Sparrow tugged her gloves tighter as her eyes scanned the rooftops. Egret lit a cigarette with practiced flair. Thomas adjusted his coat sleeves like they’d personally offended him.

And me?

I just stretched, rolled my shoulders back, and let out a theatrical sigh. “Well. That was as thrilling as being audited by a goat.”

Thomas’s eyes flicked toward me. “Goats audit you often, do they?”

“Only the Swiss ones. They’re very judgmental.”

He gave a small shake of his head, but I saw it—and my heart skipped a beat.

We began the short walk back toward the waiting cars, our boots scuffing against worn cobblestones, the kind of silence between us that wasn’t awkward so much as wary.

Still, there was warmth in the way Sparrow fell into step beside Egret, their arms brushing just a little too often to be accidental—and there was something steadier in the way Thomas kept half an eye on me even when he was pretending to study a map in his coat pocket.

“Dinner at our hotel?” I asked Sparrow as we approached the cars.

“It’s a date. Give us an hour to clean up and change.”

I smirked. “Clean up, not get dirty.”

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