He was smiling at her, all cheekbones and dimples and hair tumbling into his eyes. On his other side, Ada sat looking at her hands, picking at her cuticles.
‘Fine. We’re going ahead with the drop tomorrow. You can help.’
She couldn’t stop now. This was bigger than them.
Terror, Dorval had said. Paris had already seen enough terror for a lifetime.
4
The Charnel House
19 Prairial Year II, one day until the deadline
Camille had folded herself up to sleep in an alcove that once held a heap of rib bones – the crypt beneath was too damp for her fragile lungs. They hadn’t wanted to risk moving Guil any distance, so they’d stayed put for the night. They had one more day until the deadline, and she’d put her battalion in mortal danger already.
But it seemed like one good thing had come out of the disaster at the theatre: surely Dorval couldn’t have escaped the burning building unscathed.
Unable to sleep longer, Camille waited for her coughing to subside. She didn’t want to look at the red speckling her sleeve. She was fine. She had to be.
Only Guil shared the upstairs room with her, still silently stretched like a body awaiting burial. Camille fetched a damp cloth and pressed it against his face. A scar ran around his bare shoulder, a memento from his time in the army.
She wanted to leave the room, not look at him. She couldn’t help but stay. Pick at the scab of her culpability and feel the pain she deserved.
Footsteps sounded on the stone stairs and Camille moved backwards quickly, wiping the beginning of tears from her cheeks.
James appeared, hair ruffled from sleep. Dark circles were smudged under his eyes and his lips looked bitten.
‘Morning. I’ve come to check on the patient.’
‘Thank you. For helping Guil, but also for being so … understanding.’
He gave her a brief smile. ‘It’s a lot, Cam, I won’t lie. But it’s you. I trust you.’ He rewrapped the wound, hiding the twisted row of stitches from sight. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘How do you think? In all the jobs I’ve done, I’ve never had a body count before.’
‘I meant your chest,’ said James softly.
‘Fine. I’m fine.’
‘Did you get some sleep?’
‘Enough.’
‘Why am I sure that’s not true?’
‘Maybe I should be losing sleep! God knows how many people died in that theatre because of me. And Guil might end up one of them.’
‘You know that’s not your fault.’
‘Isn’t it? Who came up with the plan? Who brought Dorval down on our heads? Who led Olympe into the theatre? Me. I can’t pretend I didn’t because I did.’
She didn’t know when she’d started crying, but somehow she was and James was there, brushing the tears from her cheeks and she hated how she didn’t hate it at all.
‘Get some more sleep. I’ll wake you if anything happens.’
‘I can’t. I need to work out what we’re going to do and I’ve already wasted all the time we had.’
‘It’s okay to take a break, you know.’
