I scan the tree line, the switchbacks, the thin line of a frozen river below.
I tell him, in detail, every possible approach, every blind spot, every place someone could hide a body.
He laughs. “God, you’re dark.”
“I prefer to be prepared.”
He looks at me, grins. “So do I. But I was hoping you’d say something about how pretty it is.”
I study the view again before looking down at him.
“It’s pretty,” I say.
He squeezes my arm, satisfied.
We stand like that, side by side, until the wind picks up and numbs our faces. On the walk home, he talks about all the places he wants to go when this is over. Istanbul. Tokyo. The jungles in South America. He wants to see everything, do everything, like time is catching up to him.
I let him talk. I memorize the cadence of his words, the way he spins a future out of nothing.
I want to believe in it, even though I know better.
My peace shatters on a basic Tuesday.
A vibrating that disturbs the tranquility of the morning.
“Broiler is acting up. I’ll be back in a minute, pet.”
The source is a little black cube, tucked behind the water heater. My own design—lead-shielded, battery-powered, triple-wrapped in foil. It’s a SAT phone, the kind you can only get from old government or new crime.
Even Brooks doesn’t know about it. The only person who knows this line exists is the only other Harrington alive worth a damn.
I pick it up, press my thumb to the reader, and wait for the cold blue screen to flare to life. No ID on the call. No number. Just the word: “INCOMING.”
I answer, nothing in my voice. “Yeah?”
The line is silent, then a crisp, familiar sound.
“Your timing was impeccable, Harrington,” says Eve.
I close my eyes, let the name unlock a dozen old wounds. “Cousin. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She laughs, but it’s a flat sound. “You’re still good at hiding. The Director had a bet you were dead by now.”
“He’ll have to pay up,” I say. “What’s the situation?”
Another pause, this one loaded with implication. “There’s a breach. East sector. Something big enough that even the Disposals are paying attention.”
I lean back against the wall, scan the pipes overhead for spiders that might attack at any moment. “Define breach.”
“You’re not priority anymore. Not until this is cleaned up. You’ve bought yourself six months, maybe seven, before they reroute the bloodhounds.”
The words punch a hole in my chest, then let in something cold and sharp and dangerous. Relief. I hate it, but I can’t fight it.
“Any idea who’s on point when they get back to me?” I ask.
She hesitates, then rattles off four names. Two I know, one I trained, one I thought was dead. “They’re already prepping the new protocol. If you stay in Switzerland, avoid the city. Zurich is compromised.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “And travel?”
