Page 32 of The Gentleman

The bathroom door clicked shut.

His reflection stared back—the scar near his eye stark in the ambient light. The face they trained to kill.

Running water hissed against porcelain—an echo of another place, another lifetime

His apartment vanished, replaced by sputtering fluorescents, cracked tiles, and the coppery stench of blood.

Sangin.

His hands under freezing water in a filthy compound bathroom, blood spiraling down the rust-stained drain. Knuckles raw, tactical gear spattered with?—

Fuck.

Cramp seized his jaw.

The mission had gone to hell. One split-second decision, irreversible consequences. Children screaming—the sound still echoing in his skull.

The water stopped, snapping him back.

His knuckles were white against the sill, breath fogging the glass. He’d made peace with the ghosts—accepted a life of service without connection as penance. Fair trade for the lives he couldn’t save. But was there another way to honor the dead?

He stepped back from the window—and from his past.

He needed to focus, plan their next move. Korolov was still moving pieces. MI6 was hunting Kat. And they were running out of time.

With a deep breath, he dialed Zak’s number.

First, resolve this situation. Then, perhaps... Kat.

If he deserved her. If she could want a man like him, once she knew his truth.

15

Kat closedthe bathroom door and leaned against it, eyes shut. The marble floor chilled her feet through her socks as she fought to clear her mind of Leo.

Impossible.

She shook her head.

The bathroom had a sleek, freestanding tub and glass-walled shower that easily belonged in a luxury hotel.

She caught her reflection in the oversized mirror. Her hair hung in disheveled tangles, and exhaustion carved shadows beneath her eyes.

But worse than the physical disarray was what stared back—a disgraced MI6 agent, branded a traitor and hunted by her own people.

She turned on the tap and splashed cool water on her face. It helped. She repeated the motion, scrubbing away the grime of London’s back streets.

She worked her wet fingers gently around her eyes, soothing the tension that lingered since her fitful sleep at Gage’s home.

When she turned off the tap, she stared at her wet face in the mirror.

The indistinct murmur of Leo’s voice carried through the door as he spoke on the phone. His Russian had sent an unexpected shiver down her spine—the deep, resonant cadence peeling away another layer of the man she thought she knew.

Not the operative she liaised with for years, but Leonid—a man with roots and history she knew little of.

But I want to know.

She gripped the edge of the pristine sink as she leaned closer to the mirror.Do I look different now? Now that I’m here with him?

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