Ruby breathed out slowly. Good. That was good.
“Get some rest,” he said gruffly. “We’ll look for yer cousin in the morning.”
“And then?”
He looked up, met her gaze. “And then our deal will be concluded. We’ll go our separate ways.”
Ruby swallowed.Separate ways.She’d known it was coming. She’d known this had only been a temporary arrangement and that when they reached Charlie, all ties between them would be severed. She’d known it. So why did the thought of it feel like a boulder had settled in her stomach? Why did the thought of him leaving send a sliver of panic right through her belly?
“Right,” she said, forcing out the word. “I’ll...um...see you in the morning then.”
He didn’t answer. But as she turned away, she thought she heard his breath catch—just slightly—and thought he might say something. But he didn’t. He just resumed sharpening his knives.
THE ROOM FELT TOO SMALL, like a cell closing in around him, trapping him like a rabbit in a snare.
Evan leaned against the wall, arms folded, listening to the sounds outside, to the building settling, to the rhythm of Ruby’s breathing as she fell asleep.
He didn’t like being back here. Despite what he’d told Ruby about being able to disappear in a city like this, he knew that Edinburgh was full of ears, full of people who remembered names and faces long after they ought to have been forgotten. The question was, who would remember him?
A shout echoed up the street, followed by laughter. Evan’s fingers flexed unconsciously on the handle of one of his knives. He forced himself to breathe slowly. The city was restless, aye—but not every noise meant danger. If he reacted to every shadow, he’d never sleep again.
He glanced to the bed. Ruby was already asleep. Good. It had been a close thing earlier. He’d come a hair’s breadth away from saying things that they’d both regret.
I don’t want us to go our separate ways.
Dear God, the words had been teetering on the end of his tongue, ready to fall and ruin everything. They had reached the end of the road, the end of their short-lived acquaintance, and he’d always known it would come to this. But that didn’t stop him wishing things could be otherwise. Didn’t stop him wishing that...
Ah, curse it all!
He picked up a knife and turned it in his fingers, grounding himself with the familiar weight. Heavy boots passed outside the inn, slow and deliberate. Evan stiffened, senses sharpening. He moved to the window and cracked the shutter just enough to peer out.
A pair of soldiers stood in the street below, one leaning against a wall, the other rubbing his hands against the cold. They weren’t looking up but Evan’s pulse kicked hard all the same.
He closed the shutter quietly. In the room, the candle guttered as a draft slipped under the door. Somewhere in the inn, a man coughed. Another laughed. Life went on, indifferent to the fact that Evan Campbell stood in the middle of a city that would gladly see him dead.
He sat down heavily on the chair, back to the wall, positioning himself where he could see both door and window, idly turning the knife in his grip. Time passed. Ruby began snoring. Just as Evan was beginning to doze, a shout rose from the common room below.
“...Campbell,” a voice slurred, thick with drink. “Swear I heard that name—”
Evan was on his feet instantly, knife in hand.
Ruby bolted awake, eyes wide as she looked around in a panic. “What is it?”
“Quiet,” he whispered.
Footsteps climbed the stairs. One set. Then another. Evan’s mind raced, calculating angles, distances, exits. He could get himself and Ruby out the window if he had to—drop into the alley, vanish into the warren of streets—but not without risk.
The footsteps reached their door—and carried on past.
Evan didn’t breathe until they faded down the corridor and he heard a door open and close. He lowered the knife slowly, the tension draining from his limbs in an unsteady rush.
“Go back to sleep,” he told Ruby. “There’s naught to worry about.”
Her flat look told him exactly what she thought of that statement, but she settled down again nonetheless. He sank back into the chair to keep watch, knowing sleep would be shallow at best.
In fact, he woke before the light. It was a habit beaten into him by the years he’d lived one step ahead of trouble—by dawn raids, sudden flights, the need to be gone before anyone thought to look for him. Even now, wrapped in the unfamiliar stillness of a rented room in Edinburgh, his eyes opened at the first subtle change in the air.
The city was waking.
