Page 87 of Shadowfox

I forced a smile. “You love your transformers, too, you hypocrite.”

“Only the sexy ones.” A wink, like always, but his smile faded faster than usual.

He stepped closer, his coat brushing mine, and pulled me into an embrace. His movement wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t performative. It was just . . . quiet, somehow grounded. His hands slid around my back like he wanted to memorize the shape of me before we separated.

“Be careful,” he whispered into my ear. “Don’t do anything brave . . . or stupid.”

I huffed against his collar. “There’s a difference?”

He didn’t let go. Not right away.

I felt seconds stretch.

There was a warmth in his hold that had nothing to do with his coat or the cold. When he pulled back, his hands lingered on my arms. A thumb brushed my elbow.

“Come back to me,” he said, and something inside me cracked open.

I nodded, not quite trusting myself to speak.

His government car pulled up, engine idling, exhaust curling into the morning air like a ghost reaching toward the heavens. Egret looked at me one last time. His eyes were too clear, too raw. Then he crawled into the back seat without another word.

I watched until the sedan rounded a corner and vanished from view, then turned the opposite direction, tucking my gloved hands deep into my coat pockets, and walked.

Frost crunched beneath my boots.

Behind me, I heard the subtle echo of footsteps.

My tail was right on cue.

This was where the game got tricky. My goal was tonotlose my tail. If he thought I’d caught onto him, despite us undoubtedly knowing he was back there, I would blow my own cover of ignorance. He would be forced to become more aggressive, possibly even report to his superiors about the spy in their midst. It would make him look like he’d failed, while shoving me into a spotlight I didn’t want.

No, my goal wasn’t to lose him; it was to keep him close enough until that perfect moment when I could execute my mission. Only then would I let him find me again, quick enough that he would assume nothing was amiss.

In the world of tradecraft, “finding the gap” was one of the most difficult maneuvers. If done correctly, the tail was none the wiser. If poorly executed, well, I didn’t want to know what that would mean.

A taxi rolled to a stop just as I stepped off the curb and lowered my hand. I opened the door before the driver could even greet me, flashing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. My gloved fingers tightened on the edge of the doorframe, my other hand still in my coat pocket, wrapped around the sealed manila envelope.

“Fo utca, please,” I said.

The driver blinked, nodded once, and glanced at his mirror.

We drove for a quarter hour, weaving in and out of residential areas, before reaching a small shopping district. I paid my driver and stepped into the wintry air.

Across the street, just behind a line of early shoppers, a second taxi pulled up to the curb. The passenger door opened, and my tail appeared.

He didn’t move quickly.

He didn’t need to.

His coat was long, too new, and his hat pulled low like he thought it made him invisible. He paused just long enough to check the time on his watch—a performative gesture—then lifted his head and looked directly at me.

It was poor tradecraft on his part. Not every team was the A Team, even among the Soviets’ vaunted ranks. I looked away, hopefully quick enough that my man didn’t think I’d seen him. I still needed him to believe the illusion of his superior skills.

The shopfronts blurred past—a women’s clothier with warm light in the windows, a butcher’s that smelled like steel and bone, a watch repair shop whose clicking and ticking echoed off the pavement as I pretended to examine its wares.

In each reflection, I caught slivers of him.

His shadow ghosted mine.

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