“He found the earrings. Started asking questions about the tech. I couldn’t risk it.”
“And you couldn’t find another way to contact us? Another mobile? Carrier pigeon, even?”
“Bayo…”
“You know how long three days is for us. Kat wanted to storm his building. I had to talk her out of it four separate times. There’s no way she would have been able to without getting caught and causing an international incident.”
Guilt twists in my chest. “I’m sorry. I should have found a way.”
“Yes. You should have.” A pause. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Is your cover intact?”
The lie sticks in my throat. “Yes.”
Another silence, longer this time. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. Less angry, more worried.
“What happened, Miss Mia? Really?”
I don’t even fucking know.
We start over. Not as anything we were before.
“I handled it,” I say. “That’s what matters.”
“Mm-hmm.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “We need to debrief properly. Tomorrow. We’re expecting more news from Mank in the meantime. I’d transcribed and sent over the recording you made from the warehouse.”
“I’ll be there.”
“And, Mia?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t go dark on me again. Please.”
Thepleasegets me. I can feel it.
“I won’t,” I say, and this time I mean it.
“Or we’re going to have to send in enforcements to get your extraction.”
“I understand.”
I end the call and toss the phone onto the bed. My hands are shaking slightly—adrenaline crash, exhaustion, the accumulated weight of too many lies pressing down on my chest. This is the first time I’ve really lied to my team and it makes my stomach churn.
I need sleep. I need food. I need about a week in a dark room with no one asking me any questions. I just need to bealone.
The next morning my body forces me to sleep in, but I still feel tense when I wake, so I take a long bath, pouring nearly the entire contents of the hotel body wash into the tub. I sit there and disassociate, something I’ve learned not to interfere with. After an agent goes through a traumatic event, like being captured, we often need time to just stare at the wall and process what happened without actively thinking about it.
For me it means staying in the bath until I’m one giant prune, then wrapping myself in a robe and doing the same on the couch, though this time I have coffee and a Beatles documentary I halfpay attention to. I lie there for hours, eating minibar snacks, and rotting until there’s not much left in my brain and I’ve become one with the cushions. I dread the moment my alarm goes off and I have to leave this cocoon for the debriefing at the safehouse.
There’s a knock at the door.
I freeze, waiting for someone to say “housekeeping” but no one does.
It has to be Vanguard…but why not just appear on my balcony as always?
