“I am being perfectly reasonable. You’re planning to walk into danger alone to save my brother. Either I go with you, or I follow you on my own.” Her green eyes held absolute resolve. “Which would you prefer?”
Aaron recognized defeat when it stared him down, wearing a morning dress of pale yellow. The thought of Louise trailing him through London’s most dangerous streets alone made his chest constrict.
“You stay beside me every moment.” The words tasted like surrender. “You do exactly as I say without question or hesitation.”
“Agreed.”
“If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. No heroics, no arguments.”
“I understand.” Louise moved closer, her hand finding his with gentle certainty. “Thank you for not making me fight harder for this.”
Aaron turned her hand over, tracing the lines of her palm with one finger. “You would have won anyway. You always do.”
“Not always.” Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “Not in the things that matter most.”
They stood frozen in that moment, her hand in his, the weight of unspoken truths between them. These past weeks had been torture and salvation combined, stolen moments in darkened hallways, conversations that danced around the edge of confession without ever falling over.
Emily’s laughter drifted from somewhere in the house, breaking the spell. Louise withdrew her hand, and losing its warmth was physically painful.
“What time should I be ready?”
“Half past eleven. Wear dark colors, nothing that rustles or catches light.” Aaron forced himself to think practically, to plan rather than feel. “Can you manage your hair under a cap?”
“I’ll manage everything necessary.” She moved toward the door, then paused. “Aaron? What if it’s not him? What if it’s just someone who looks similar?”
“Then we’ll keep searching.” He met her gaze steadily. “I won’t stop until we find him, Louise. You have my word.”
She nodded once and left, taking the warmth of the room with her.
The fog rolled off the Thames like a living thing, thick enough to taste, carrying the stench of rotting fish and human waste that marked London’s easternmost reaches. Aaron guided Louise through streets that narrowed with each turn, the gaslight fading to occasional sputtering torches that did more to create shadows than dispel them.
Louise had transformed herself remarkably. In men’s clothes with her hair hidden beneath a worn cap, she could pass for a youth in the darkness. Only Aaron would recognize the grace in her movements, the stubborn tilt of her chin that no masculine clothing could disguise.
“Stay close,” he murmured as they turned onto Rope Walk.
The street curved like a diseased spine, buildings leaning against each other as if too drunk or tired to stand straight. The ropemaker’s shop squatted on the corner, its sign creaking in wind that carried salt and decay from the nearby docks. Aaron counted three alleys past it, finding the broken lamppost exactly where Howlett had described.
The alley mouth gaped black between two warehouses, narrow enough that two men could barely walk abreast. Fog pooled thicker here, turning the darkness into something tangible, oppressive. No light penetrated more than a few feet into its depths.
“This feels wrong,” Louise whispered, pressing closer to his side.
Aaron agreed but said nothing. His hand found the pistol in his coat, the metal cold and reassuring against his palm. Every instinct screamed trap, but they had come too far to leave now.
They entered the alley slowly, Aaron leading with Louise’s fingers gripping the back of his coat. The walls pressed close on either side, slick with moisture and something that might have been moss or might have been worse. Their footstepsechoed strangely in the confined space, distorted by the fog and darkness.
Twenty feet in, the alley opened into a small courtyard, barely visible in the murk. Crates stacked against walls created dozens of hiding places. Windows in the surrounding buildings stared down like blind eyes, offering no help or witness.
“Where is he?” Louise breathed against his ear.
The silence stretched, heavy as the fog itself. No voices, no footsteps, no sign that anyone waited in this forsaken place. Aaron’s neck prickled with the certainty of being watched, evaluated, judged as adversary, or worse, prey.
Then he heard it.
A scrape of boot on stone. The whisper of fabric. The careful breath of someone trying to remain hidden.
They were not alone.
Aaron’s hand tightened on his pistol as shadows separated from shadows, the fog disgorging figures that had been there all along, waiting with the patience of practiced predators.
