Page 86 of The Gentleman

The announcer continued. “A statement from MI6’s Agent Charles Crow confirmed?—”

The image changed. A man in a sharp suit filled the screen. Clean-cut. Pleased with himself. Eldridge’s deputy.

She’s not been well recently. I have no idea how she has the energy for any of it.

“They cleared it out.” Her voice was toneless. “As soon as we were discovered, they moved everything.”

“We’ve slowed them down,” Leo said. “Got them scrambling.”

“And that scramble buys us what—six hours? Maybe a day? Then we’re right back where we started. There’s a second test site and we don’t know where it is.” She dug her nails into her palms until it hurt. “We shut down one node. The rest of the network is untouched. We have nothing.”

Leo’s mouth grew tight. “So we keep going.”

Brock set down a mug. “Drink. It’s mostly sugar. Helps with the crash.”

She took a sip. It was hot sugar, nothing else.

Eldridge had missed the Zurich conference last year. Kat had assumed politics. But now? Thoughts snapped and scattered, chasing threads she couldn’t hold on to.

“I need to lie down. Just for a bit.” She stood too fast, and the room tilted sideways.

Leo caught her arm. “Hey—slow down.”

She smiled, her cheeks tight. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“No one’s fine right now.” His voice was gentle. “You’re allowed to crash.”

“Spare room’s down the hall.” Brock motioned her forward. “Not fancy, but it’s quiet. Might help.”

“Thanks, Brock.”

Brock ledher down the narrow hallway to a spartan bedroom. No figurines here. Just a neatly made double bed, a dresser with stacked books, and heavy drapes drawn against the night.

Jeff lay curled in a ball on the bed.

“I can move him?—”

She touched Brock’s arm. “He’s fine. Don’t worry.”

Brock nodded. “Not the Ritz, but it’s clean. Safe. You can sleep, if you’ll let yourself.” He gestured to the laptop on the dresser beside a notepad and pencil. “In case you can’t. I find research oddly relaxing.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

When the door closed behind him, she sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress didn’t give much. Solid. Reliable.

Jeff stirred, opened one eye, and then closed it again.

Voices drifted through the thin walls. Gage’s voice rising, followed by Leo’s lower reply. She almost smiled. Both stubborn. Both protective. Both impossible.

She lay back beside Jeff, shoes still on, staring up at the ceiling.

Wood beams crossed in narrow lines. Four cracks running north to south. A cobweb in the far corner. Her hand found soft fur as the cat stretched beside her and purred, his motor running hard.

The Royal London. NX-7782. Korolov. The Arken Institute. Eldridge.

Eldridge is sick.

She’d written it off as office gossip. But now gossip was the only breadcrumb she had left.

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