Page 83 of Undercover Shadow
“No,” Typhon agreed. “But you’ve earned it, nonetheless. Take a week. All of you. Rest, recover, process what’s happened. The world will still need saving when you return, but for now, let others handle it.”
After Typhon and Viper left the room to meet with Renegade, the formal atmosphere dissolved. Con slumped in his chair, pulling Lex against him. Gus closed his laptop for the first time in hours. Ash and Sullivan were quiet. Too quiet.
“Fuck,” Con said eloquently.
“Yeah,” Gus agreed. “That about covers it.”
Leila stood, wincing. “I need to see him.”
“Who?” I asked, though I suspected I knew.
“MacLeod. I need to understand why someone who was kind to us could do this.”
“That’s not a good idea?—”
“I need to, Tag.” Her eyes were fierce despite the exhaustion. “He warned us, fed us, tried to protect us even while betraying us. I need to understand how someone can be both things at once.”
I recognized the look—she wouldn’t be dissuaded.
“I’ll arrange it,” I said. “But I’m coming with you.”
“I wouldn’t want you anywhere else.”
The restof the day passed in a blur of arrangements and quiet conversations, including one very frank one with my brother and sister that we agreed to continue over the course of the next few days with an intended goal of dividing the estate, along with its responsibilities, among the three of us.
Renegade returned to London with Viper and Typhon, presumably to meet Isla’s flight, although nothing official was said.
That evening, after everyone other than Cameron and Maggie left, we gathered not in the formal dining room but in the kitchen, where Mrs. Murrey held court. She’d made all our favorite foods from childhood but included a special surprise just for Leila—Sticky Toffee Pudding.
“How did you know my mother’s secret ingredient?” she asked after savoring the first spoonful.
“A not-so-wee sparrow whispered in my ear,” our housekeeper teased.
My eyes met Leila’s. “Typhon,” we said at the same time.
The storm had passed, but its effects would ripple for months, maybe years. Trials to attend, testimonies to give, the slow work of justice grinding forward. But tonight, we were alive, we were together, and the world still turned.
Tomorrow would bring its own challenges. Tonight was enough.
19
NIGHTINGALE
Two weeks had passed since Brodick Castle, and the bruises on my throat had faded from purple to yellow-green. The ones on my ribs still ached when I breathed too deeply, but they were healing. Everything was healing, slowly.
Tag had been diligent about arranging for us to visit MacLeod, but he was still being held in a secret location, spilling more details about Project Labyrinth. His wife and daughter were out of protective custody now that the buyers had been arrested, but Renegade said they weren’t ready for visitors. Maybe I wasn’t ready either.
I pushed the thought away. Today wasn’t about MacLeod or his betrayals. Today was about Idris.
As the private jet descended through clouds toward Damascus, my heart clenched. The city spread out below us—ancient stone and modern glass creating a tapestry that still took my breath away. I pressed my face to the window, watching familiar landmarks appear. The Umayyad Mosque’s minaret. Mount Qasioun looming over everything. The old city walls that had stood for centuries.
“There. That’s where we lived.”
Tag leaned over to look. “Where? I don’t see any buildings.”
“No, they’re gone. Destroyed in the conflict. But that park—” I pointed at a small green space. “Idris taught me to ride a bicycle there.”
The plane touched down smoothly, and soon, we were in an armored SUV, winding through Damascus’ streets. The city had changed since my last visit. More reconstruction, fewer checkpoints. Still scarred but healing, like me.
