Page 3 of Shadowfox
I had to leave.Wehad to leave. But defection meant death if I failed—for us both. It meant walking away from everything I had ever known. It meant gambling Eszter’s life on a single desperate move.
I looked at Vega, at the monster I had created, gleaming in the low lamplight. Then I exhaled, forcing down the fear, and made the decision that would change everything.
We had to defect.
Now.
2
Thomas
Themorningstretchedacrossthe rooftops, spilling like honey over the iron balconies and narrow streets below. The Seine shimmered in the distance, rippling with the first stirrings of the city waking, though here—on our quiet street—the world still felt slow and unrushed.
For once, we were not running or chasing—or anything, really.
I lay still, letting the warmth of Will’s body anchor me to the bed, the rhythm of his breath against my skin a quiet metronome of peace. His arm lay draped over my chest, heavy in sleep, his fingers curled against my ribs. I could feel the faint rise and fall of him, the steady, unconscious trust in how we fit together.
Outside, a distant bicycle bell chimed. Somewhere, a woman’s laughter sounded, light and musical. The world was waking.
But we weren’t ready to join it.
I turned my head, letting my lips brush the curve of Will’s temple. He stirred, his fingers twitching against my ribs, and then—his voice, soft, amused, still half lost in sleep.
“You’re thinking too loud again.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “Sorry. Habit.”
“Mmm.” He didn’t open his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted in that lazy smirk of his. “One of your worst.”
I let my fingers drift, tracing slow, absent patterns over his back. “And yet, you insist on keeping me around.”
Will exhaled, something almost content threading through the sound. “Every man needs a burden to bear.”
I pinched his side, and he made a sound that was almost a laugh, though he didn’t move away. Instead, he stretched—a slow, languid shift of muscle—before cracking one eye open, the soft gray-blue of it still hazy with sleep.
For a moment, we simply looked at each other. Then my gaze flicked to the folded slip of paper on the floor, half hidden beneath the writing desk.
The note.
Will sighed, closing his eyes again. “I was hoping you’d forget about that.”
I didn’t answer, didn’t need to.
It had arrived sometime in the night, slipped under our door with barely a sound, with no trace of footsteps lingering in the hall. Its message had been simple, scrawled in careful, deliberate script:
Stand by. Await further instructions.
It wasn’t a summons. Not yet, but it would be. It always was.
Will shifted, pressing his face against my shoulder as if he could bury himself in this moment, hold on to it before it disappeared. “How long do you think we have?”
I ran a slow hand down his back, feeling the ridges of old scars, the warmth of him beneath my palm. This was the life we had chosen. The life that had chosen us.
And still—
“Not long enough,” I murmured.
Will let out a quiet hum of agreement, his breath warm against my collarbone. “Then let’s not waste it.”
