Page 15 of Never a Hero

She touched Nick’s arm. Let’s go, she mouthed.

But then the third person spoke. The voice was a boy’s, posh and precise.

‘Let me guess,’ the boy said. ‘We’ve been given another wild goose to chase. How many of these vague reports must we waste our time on?’

Joan’s breath stopped in her throat. Barely conscious of her own actions, she scrambled to her feet. Just above eye height, there was a small hole in the fence. She stood on tiptoe to peer through. A breeze rippled the leaves, allowing brief glimpses of the illuminated front garden. Corvin stood by a tall man with a crew cut—the military voice, Joan guessed. But the third figure was too obscured to see.

Nick stepped closer. Joan registered, peripherally, that his head was tilted in question. But she couldn’t focus on anything but the indistinct shape through the leaves. She peered, straining. She needed to know.

Then there was another surge of wind. The branches and leaves parted, revealing the third person in full.

Joan’s heart thundered back to life—louder than the voices, louder than the rustle of the wind.

It was Aaron Oliver.

Joan had conjured his voice and face every time she’d had a fade-out recently. She’d imagined him with her, helping her, almost every morning this week.

But her memory of him hadn’t done him justice. Illuminated by the headlights, he looked like he’d walked off a red carpet. His hair was a crown of gold, and his heather-grey suit was perfectly tailored. It was the same colour as his eyes, Joan knew. He had the kind of beauty that made people stumble over their words and stop in the street and stare. In this mundane setting, he seemed incongruous: a da Vinci in a suburban supermarket.

Joan’s heart beat painfully. Aaron. The shape of his name started inside her mouth. She held it there, silent. She hadn’t said it since the last time she’d seen him. That day, he’d brushed his hand against her cheek and told her: If you change the timeline, you can’t ever meet me. You can’t ever trust me. I won’t remember what you mean to me.

And Joan had followed his wishes. She hadn’t gone looking for him. She hadn’t let herself believe she could ever see him again.

Corvin’s scowl was familiar—Aaron had a knack for getting under people’s skin. ‘You’ll waste your time whenever we call you,’ he snapped, as if he himself hadn’t been complaining moments before Aaron had arrived. ‘I’m told you can identify her, and until you do that, your time is mine.’

‘Believe me,’ Aaron said, ‘nothing would please me more than identifying that girl. That filth.’ His beautiful face twisted as he said filth, as if he was thinking of a much harsher word. ‘But I do have to actually see her to identify her.’

A heavy weight settled in Joan’s chest, making her next breath hurt. That filth. Aaron had never spoken about her like that. His father had, but never Aaron.

‘And now I hear you’ve dragged a human boy into it,’ Aaron said, tipping his head so that his blond hair shone from the headlights. ‘Quite the mess.’

‘The intelligence was flawed,’ Corvin ground out. ‘That boy wasn’t even supposed to be there.’ He took an intimidating step toward Aaron, and Aaron’s haughty expression faltered. ‘You’d do well to remember your place,’ Corvin told him. ‘Your father is a great man, but you … I’d have thought you’d seize this opportunity to demonstrate your deep, abiding, passionate—dare I say, snivelling—obedience to the task. From what I hear, you need the redemption in his eyes.’

Joan waited for Aaron to say something biting like flawed intelligence says it all. But his mouth stayed shut, and a flush crawled up his neck.

A touch on Joan’s wrist. She jumped, almost startled into making a sound. With a shock of belated horror, she realised Aaron had said the words human boy. Nick had to have registered it.

Nick’s expression, though, was very gentle. He inclined his head toward the gate.

Joan took a step and registered distantly that she was shaking. That filth. She’d never imagined Aaron saying that about her. Nick’s hand closed over hers, strong and reassuring. Let’s go, he mouthed.

As they reached the gate, a radio crackled. The military man’s voice rose. ‘We believe they’re still together. They’re both mired—the girl’s wearing a cuff.’

Mired. It seemed the cuff would prevent Joan from time travelling—unless, perhaps, someone was dragging her with it.

Another radio crackle. ‘I want eyes on every route out of here. Every bus stop, every train station, every road. If they’re in the vicinity, I want them found!’

Nick released Joan’s hand so that he could open the gate. He nodded for Joan to slip through, and followed her. She reached back to set the latch, holding it all the way down, careful not to make a sound.

Nick’s shoulders dropped as if he’d been holding his breath. Joan released her own. She still couldn’t believe that Aaron was back there, working with the attackers to hunt her down. That he’d said—

No. She couldn’t think about what Aaron had said or how he’d said it. If she didn’t keep her head right now, she and Nick would end up captured or dead.

She looked around. They’d ended up in a narrow walkway between back gardens—the kind of path that only locals used. It was so narrow that Joan wondered if it even appeared on maps. From the front, the houses had looked immaculate; but here, at the back, people had relaxed. Overgrown trees hung over leaning fences; weeds stuck out underneath them. The ground itself was a simple strip of cobblestones, with dips for drainage on either side. This whole path was too exposed. It stretched the entire length of Nick’s street, as empty as a bowling lane. Joan judged the distance to the nearest crossroad. Too far.

Inside Nick’s house, lights flicked on. Any second now, people would swarm out into that back garden, and then they’d see that gate.

Joan sought a sturdy enough fence. Nick was already nodding when she pointed at it. They hurried over, and Nick bent with cupped hands. Joan stepped into the offered boost, gripping his shoulder for balance. A moment later, she was at the top. Nick leaped to join her, hoisting his big body up as easily as he’d lifted Joan. He dropped to the ground in near silence and held out his arms for her.

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