It was the “each other” that kept me awake.
I had spent my career learning to read people, to assess threats, to identify the hidden fault lines in loyalty that could crack under pressure. It was a necessary skill in our world, a survival skill, but it came with a cost. You started seeing betrayal everywhere. You started doubting everyone. You started lying awake at three in the morning wondering if the people you trusted most were the ones most likely to destroy you.
Thomas shifted beside me, his arm tightening around my waist.
“You’re doing that loud thinking thing again,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. “It’s like a foghorn. Honk, honk, honk.”
I wanted to laugh. It just wouldn’t come out. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just talk to me.” Thomas propped himself up on one elbow and waited.
I was quiet for a moment, still staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, but I could see the faint outline of cracks in the plaster spreading like the branches of a dead tree.
“Someone told them about Weber,” I said finally. “Someone in our circle, most likely. I keep running through the list trying to figure out who.”
“And?”
“The list is short. The Baroness. Otto. Bisch.” I paused. “You and me.”
Thomas was silent for a moment. Then he looked down at me with those warm brown eyes that had always seen too much.
“You don’t suspect the Baroness.”
“No. This is her operation, her network, her source who was killed. If she wanted to betray herself, there are easier ways.”
“And Otto?”
“Otto was with us. He drove us to the café and waited outside. He drove us back. Unless he’s some legendary spy, there’s no way he could’ve signaled anyone without us noticing.”
“Which leaves Bisch.”
“He did arrange the meeting,” I said. “He’s the only one who communicated with Weber directly before we arrived.”
“That doesn’t make him guilty.”
“No. But it makes him possible.” I turned my head to look at Thomas. “I don’t want to believe it. The Baroness says he’s the most loyal man she’s ever known.”
“And you think she’s wrong?”
“I think . . .” I hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I think trust can be a blind spot. The Baroness is brilliant, but she’s also human. She sees what she wants to see, sometimes, like we all do.”
Thomas was quiet for a long moment.
“We don’t accuse,” he said finally. “Not yet, not without proof.”
“No. We watch. We’re careful what we say around him, what information we share, and we wait.”
“For him to make a mistake?”
“For the truth to show itself.” I reached up and touched his face, tracing the line of his jaw in the darkness. “Like she said, one way or another, it always does.”
He turned his head and kissed my palm.
We lay there in the darkness, holding each other, and I tried not to think about all the ways the people we trusted might be planning to destroy us.
Morning brought coffee, cold light, and the Baroness in full command mode.
She had taken over the safe house’s cramped study, spreading documents across every available surface until the room looked like a war room—which I supposed it was. There were maps of Switzerland with locations circled in red, financial statements covered in her elegant handwriting, and photographs of men I didn’t recognize, their faces marked with question marks or crossed out entirely.
