Page 97 of Shadowfox

Will didn’t speak.

Instead, he crossed the room, grabbed the notepad from the dresser, and scribbled two words:Found her.

My stomach clenched.

Every part of me lit up at once—fear, relief, anxiety, love.

I took the pen from him and scrawled beneath it:We need to get the others now.

He nodded once, his jaw set, then he walked to the tiny hotel desk and lifted the telephone receiver with practiced calm. The Soviets had bugged everything—we all knew it—which meant this had to sound casual, routine, innocent even.

He dialed. The line clicked. A pause.

Then his voice sang, cheerful, just light enough.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Weiss. Henry here. Dr. Beckett was just complaining of an empty stomach. I fear, if his condition persists, he may perish before the sun sets—or so his dramatic flair indicates. Are you and the lovelyMademoiselleMoreau free for lunch?”

A pause. Static.

Then a muffled laugh.

“Perfect,” Will said, glancing back at me with a glint in his eye. “We’ll meet you downstairs at your hotel in half an hour.”

He hung up, exhaled through his nose, and rolled his shoulders.

“That was almost convincing,” I said, crossing the room again. “But did you have to make me sound so weak? Starvation? Seriously?”

“I was inspired. Besides, have you met yourself when you’re hungry?” he replied, and pulled me in for another kiss—this one softer, but no less urgent.

The walk to Egret and Sparrow’s hotel was pleasant enough. The sun shone overhead with barely a cloud marring the crystal sky. The people we passed, likely out shopping or strolling, smiled and nodded warm greetings. Even the uniformed Soviets patrolling the streets appeared in good humor, offering toothy grins—until they noticed our obvious shadow. Then all humor drained from their faces, along with most of their color. No one wanted to be on the wrong side of Stalin’s secret soldiers.

Egret and Sparrow were already waiting on the front steps of their hotel when Will and I arrived. Egret leaned against the wrought-iron railing like he’d been born lounging, and Sparrow stood with her arms crossed and her coat buttoned to her chin. She wore a black skirt with a crisp white shirt and a black coat. Her only hint of color was her brilliant crimson scarf. She was the picture of a Parisian woman out for a stroll.

Across the street, our tail took up a position a few yards from theirs. Neither spoke, though a quick handshake of the eyes acknowledged the other’s presence.

“We’re actually eating?” Egret whispered as we approached. There was no one within earshot, but we could never be too sure. “No field rations? No three-day-old pastries wrapped in lies?”

Will grinned. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Sparrow’s mouth twitched, but her eyes scanned the street behind us before softening. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a trench backward,mes ami.”

Will offered a crooked smile. “Feels about right.”

We didn’t say anything more—not yet. There were no updates—no mission talk—just the practiced rhythm of four people walking through occupied streets as if we were tourists, or diplomats, or nobody at all.

Sparrow filled some of the silence by pointing out various birds and expounding on the origins of each species. I found her exposition enlightening, if a bit academic. Egret looked like his eyes might roll out of his head and bounce down the street, just to get away from the academic drivel. Will grinned, keeping his thoughts to himself, but apparently enjoying the show.

We strolled two blocks before turning down a narrower side street. The wind snuck between the buildings, tugging at scarves and coats and hair. There were a dozen restaurants hidden throughout the neighborhood, most with curtains drawn or signs half hanging. One reeked of boiled cabbage. Another was too empty to trust.

Then we passed a narrow shopfront with two small tables out front and a fogged window behind which unidentifiable shapes moved. The sounds of eating, chatting, and laughing drifted out.

And the smells hit us.

Garlic, yeast, some kind of meat roasted to perfection.

We all stopped.

Egret was the first to proclaim, “Oh, hell yes.”

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