Only… today hadn’t felt like a performance. He’d actually enjoyed it. Slipping into the role. Playing teacher again. He’d done a brief stint straight out of university—PE teacher in an inner-city London Catholic Secondary while he waited to hear from the Met. Tough kids. Tougher parents. But he’d liked it. Routine. Mess. Challenge. It had suited him in a way few things did. Then the call had come through. His real mission. Metropolitan Police. And he’d handed in his notice, never looking back.
Until now.
Today had stirred something.
A version of himself he hadn’t seen in years. The one who still believed schools were safe. That what waited beyond the gates couldn’t seep in past the playgrounds and poster boards. But now he knew better. Knew exactly what danger looked like. How it dressed, how it moved, who it hunted. And he’d seen too many times what it did to the people who were supposed to be safe.
And Jude Ellison wasn’t exactly a target Warren was used to dealing with. Usually, they made his fists itch or his skin crawl. The sort he wanted to cuff or knock flat, not trade winks and banter with across a safeguarding slideshow.
He hadn’t quite figured out what that was about yet.
Probably method acting.
Getting into character.
That’s all it was.
Had to be.
Naomi moved into the kitchen and switched on the kettle, reaching for the same brand of instant coffee they’d always had back in their South London flat. When they’d shared more than a cover. When talk of a future hadn’t sounded naïve. Or fictional.
Warren followed, leaning against the counter.
“So,” she said, not turning around, “how’d it go?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You asking as my handler, or a bit of light chit-chat between former fuck buddies?”
“We were more than that.”
“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “I thought so too. Until you ghosted and became another name in the file markedformerly known as someone I trusted.”
She let out a sigh. Bit her lip. “Is this going to be a problem?”
He gave a dry laugh and tugged the band from his locs, shaking them loose around his shoulders. “Why? Cause my reassigned op is to co-habit with my ex. The one who left behind half a flat, two unopened bills, and a Post-it on the fridge that read ‘I can’t do this’?”
Naomi tilted her neck. “It was the truth. I couldn’t do it.”
He looked away, drumming his fingers on the counter, before turning back. “But now you can?”
“I can when it’s work.”
“Right. Operational clarity.” He nodded once. “Crystal.”
“Warren—”
He cut her off with a lazy wave of his hand. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter. It’s water under the bridge, right?”
She said nothing.
He exhaled, dragging the focus back where it belonged. “To answer your question—ashandler—today went to plan. I’m embedded. Staff believe the cover. Made initial contact with Ellison. No red flags. He’s well-liked. Bit of a local hero after the fire.”
Naomi finally turned, handing him a coffee. Exactly how he liked it. Black. One sugar. Really fucking strong. “You get a read on him?”
Warren gave a one-shoulder shrug. “On the surface? He’s clean.” He took a sip of coffee. “Genuine. But I’ll stay close. See what shakes loose.”
“Genuine means he could have done a good job at fooling everyone.”
He offered a cold smile. “Don’t worry. I remember the brief.” He stepped back towards the kitchen table. “What about you? Where’d you disappear to?”
