That seemed new information. “Where is, then?”
“Ummi?” My smile felt brittle. “As much as any place is. Home implies belonging, and I have never belonged to anywhere.” I almost said more, needing him to see my pain and my reasoning, to understand why I needed to leave. I barely knew the man, but I could not stomach his judgement.
I was treading dangerously close to admitting who I was, too—the only fact that Lewis, it seemed, had neglected to share with his criminal compatriot. So I said no more.
I expected Harden to respond callously. Separatists were all the same, in that regard. They were blind for their cause and determined to erase the individuals within, to assimilate all into a single organism with a single goal.
(Even years later, I do not retract that statement. It has proved true time and again.)
But Harden let out a long breath and sat back, looking more thoughtful than anything else.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He shook his head and considered his mug, which appeared to be empty. “I’m Harren, through and through. I forget not everyone loves this city as I do.”
“It has its qualities,” I assuaged. “There is a reason I chose to stay here, temporary though it is. Old Harrow is beautiful.”
A smile touched the corner of his mouth. It revealed a dimple in his left cheek, startlingly boyish.
“I’ll say no more on the Common Force,” he said. “You know my mind and I know yours now. We’ll let it be.”
I nodded, grateful, and lifted my mug in a salute.
“You and Lewis must be close to leaving, though,” he said.
I nodded again. “I believe so.”
“Then you’d better have me while you can,” Harden said,waving down the serving girl again. He spoke so nonchalantly, so practically, it took me a moment to understand. “Limited opportunity, Miss Fleet.”
I startled, very nearly offended, but the look he cast me out of the corner of his eye smothered the feeling before it could root. His grin was crooked and wry, that dimple on display again, and his posture easy, without threat. Any tension from our conversation lost its edge.
I found myself choking on a laugh, and was still smiling when the girl refilled our mugs. I was not blushing; the heat in my cheeks was certainly from the alcohol, and nothing else.
We spoke of lighter things then, and time began to slip past me. We fell into commentary on the other patrons, some of which Harden knew and could effectively gossip over. This carried us through another drink before I recalled my pocket watch and realized the lateness of the hour.
The heat in my cheeks faltered with a wash of cold reality.
Mr. Wake. Mr. Wake was waiting for me, and I was horrifically late.
I rose, concealing my haste. “I should go, Mr. Harden. Thank you for a diverting evening.”
“I’ll take you home,” Harden said, picking up his jacket, which he had discarded over the back of his chair.
“That is not necessary,” I chided, digging in my pocket for a few coins, which I cast on the table to pay for my drinks.
He frowned at the coins, then me. “Said something wrong, did I?”
I shook my head, more sincerely than I intended. My tongue, however, was quick to lie, “No, no. I really must be getting home. My… ah, cat, you see. I must let him in. The neighbor has been threatening to toss him off the roof if he howls at her window one more night.”
“I’ll walk you,” he restated, his voice firm. “Where do you live?”
I relented, ostensibly to speed the matter along, but if I was frank with myself, I did not want to be alone. Not in the dark streets. And not with Wake lying in wait.
I pondered the latter as we set off and I directed Hardenover the bridge to New Harrow. I even parted my lips to tell Harden about Wake, to tell him everything, as the dark water swept below us and the wind tugged at my hair. His presence beside me was a comfort I had not known I needed, and yet his company had opened a well of loneliness that left me more vulnerable than ever.
My rational self, however, shook into wakefulness before we reached Mr. Stoke’s office. I was tired, and lonely, and therefore subject to fleeting fits of emotion. It could mean nothing.
I stopped outside Mr. Stoke’s office door.
“You live here?” Harden questioned, dubious.
