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“Couldn’t make it,” Louis tells him. Cat should know better than to ask. The less they know, the better.

“What the hell happened to you?” Félix asks.

“Well, Château de Pignerolle is definitely a major communications center,” Cat says, setting two battered files on the table. “These detail Atlantic radio traffic and U-boat communication. They’re routing everything through there—messages from Berlin to the Atlantic fleet, position reports.”

Louis picks up the files and opens them, his eyes widening. “This is . . . This is extraordinary. How did you get these?”

“I may have improvised slightly.”

“Improvised,” Tina repeats flatly. “You were supposed to observe. Gather intelligence. Not steal classified documents and get into a fight.”

“There was a fight?” Agent leans forward.

Cat shrugs, winces. “A small one. With a Militia member who caught me in a truck full of documents. I may have knocked him out. And then there were the dogs. And the searchlights. And the drive through checkpoints where I was certain I’d be arrested.” He grins. “But I wasn’t. And we have the files.”

“You’re an idiot,” Félix says, but he’s smiling. “A brilliant, reckless idiot.”

“I prefer to think of myself as thorough.”

Louis is still skimming through the files, shaking his head in amazement. “Colonel Pallas needs to see these immediately. This intelligence, if we can get it to London, can be used to intercept U-boat communications, redirect Allied shipping, save lives.”

He looks up at Cat. “You took an insane risk.”

“I need to get these to Dancer,” Andrée says, forcing herself to focus. “She can transmit the key information straight to London. But we need to photograph these documents first, return the originals somehow. If the Germans realize these specific files are missing⁠—”

“They already know someone broke in and stole documents,” Cat points out. “These were in a truck with dozens of boxes. They’ll have to inventory everything. By the time they realize what’s missing, we’ll have already used the intelligence.”

The meeting continues, planning how to extract and transmit the information. Andrée can barely concentrate. She keeps looking at Cat, at his bandaged hand, his scratched face, imagining what could have happened. Dogs. Searchlights. Guns.

When the others leave, Cat lingers. Tina and Louis head out to line up for rations.

“You could have been killed,” she says quietly.

“But I wasn’t.”

“This time. What about next time? What about the time after that?”

He steps closer. “We all take risks, Andrée. You, me, everyone in this network. That’s what we do. That’s what we’ve chosen.”

“I know. But . . .” She stops, realizing she might say too much.

He takes her hand with the one that isn’t bandaged. “I’m sorry I worried you. But I’m here. I’m safe. And we now have intelligence that could turn the tide on the war in the Atlantic. Tell me that isn’t worth a few scratches.”

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.” He smiles.

And despite everything—the fear, the anger, the relief—she finds herself smiling back.

“Just make sure you get the files to Dancer, and she gets them to London as quick as she can.”

“I’ll take them to her as soon as I’m done teaching at the school in the morning. I’ve got students due here any minute, so you’d better go.”

Later, alone in her room, Andrée thinks about those files, about the risks Cat took to get them, about the lives that might be saved because of the intelligence they contain. The war is grinding on, brutal and relentless. But they’re fighting back, in their own way. With forged papers and stolen documents and reckless courage.

Only time will tell if it is enough.

Chapter Fourteen