“Perhaps a bit of both,” Dash offered. He wanted to kill the man for hurting Vivy, but he knew they needed information. That meant he had to continue to breathe.
Halford swallowed. “I had orders.”
“From whom?” Dash asked.
Halford turned his gaze toward him, and hatred flashed there—hot and brittle. “From men who understand what you represent and do not like it.”
Dash’s expression did not change. “Give us their names.”
Halford licked his lips. “I don’t know their names.” He grinned. “I didn’t need to know them. I was happy to do their bidding.”
Lionston leaned forward a fraction. “Then you are of no use to them or us.” Halford flinched. That had hit home. He was starting to realize what a precarious situation he was in. “If you cannot give us names, then perhaps you can tell us why Avonridge had that list.”
“I…” Halford’s throat bobbed. “She never should have seen it. She ruined everything.”
That was not an answer. It was a confession of incompetence. Lionston narrowed his gaze. “Was it meant for the Duke of Avonridge?” Halford hesitated too long. Dash caught it. So did Lionston. Lionston’s voice turned a shade colder. “Is Avonridge involved?”
Halford’s eyes widened in horror. “No! No, he—he wouldn’t. He doesn’t even know it exists. It was meant as…insurance.”
“Insurance against what?” Dash demanded.
Halford’s breath came faster. “If…if something happened. If the French…it’s insurance…”
Lionston stared at him and said, “It’s a list of spies you can sell to the French.”
Halford’s shoulders sagged. “I do not know.” He shook his head as if he could undo his own choices. “I am not the one who makes those decisions.”
Dash sighed. He was an idiot and no one of importance. They used him and he had been stupid enough to get caught. “You are worse than a fool. You’re the one they send in and do not care what happens. You’re disposable.”
Halford’s jaw clenched. “You think you are noble, all of you. Playing at war in secret rooms. But there are men with power who will remind you soon enough how little you do matter.”
Lionston’s smile was thin. “Is that why they are watching us?”
Halford said nothing.
Lionston’s expression flattened. He sat back. “You truly do not know anything.”
Halford’s mouth twisted. “I know enough to know I am dead.”
Lionston looked at Dash, and something passed between them—an understanding neither needed to put into words. Halford had been someone they used for their schemes. There was nothing more they could learn from him.
Lionston rose. “Take him back to the room,” he told the guards. “And make certain he is kept alive until Slothington returns with answers.”
Halford’s eyes widened. “Please…” The guards dragged him away. The door shut and silence returned, thick as smoke.
Lionston exhaled slowly through his nose. “Useless idiot...”
“Not entirely,” Dash said. “He confirmed what we suspected.”
Lionston raised a brow. “Which is?”
“That someone wants us gone,” Dash replied, voice tight. “And that someone wanted us reminded we can bleed.”
Lionston nodded, but he did not comment. Instead, he turned back to the table and pressed two fingers to the list as if he would like to grind it into dust. “We will burn that list,” Lionston said quietly, “once Slothington discovers what he can from Avonridge. I do not know if I believe he is innocent.”
Before Dash could respond, the door opened again. This time it was not a guard but a young man with ink stains on his fingers and exhaustion etched into his face—one of their best codebreakers. He held a parchment packet in careful hands, as though it might bite.
“Your Grace,” he said, breathless. “The missive Lord Ravenwood intercepted—the one in the new cipher. We finished it.”
