Asa stayed where he was, blocking the door.

“Let me pass,” I said.

“What’s in your hand?”

“What’s in yours?” I shot back. I had no defense. Just fear.

Asa opened his hands in the darkness, showing me his empty palms. Then he brushed a finger over my eyebrow—a quick swipe down my scar.

I jerked back with a gasp. “Why did you do that?”

He watched me intently, his eyes piercing deep, like the answer to my own question was inside me. Like he was just waiting for me to find it.

“Go,” he said, and stepped aside.

I went.

November–December 1779

“And that’s the key?” Townsend said the following Wednesday. He turned aside and coughed into a kerchief. The poor man. He looked worse than a week ago. “The very one?”

“Yes.” I pushed the key toward him on the counter. It struck me as something from a fairy tale, all pretty swirled silver with a tiny diamond set at the crown. General Knyphausen had to be missing it by now. “The very one.”

Townsend picked it up, studying it like it was a strange insect. “I must say, Miss Coates, you took an exorbitant risk.”

“I know. I know I did.”

“Alas. ’Tis done.” He set the key down. “Do you think Mr. Latimer will go to his uncle with his suspicions?”

“No. I don’t think so.” It sounded so feeble. Truth was, I had no idea what Asa would do. Keeping quiet about my identity was one thing, but spying was treason. I could only hope he still had a scrap of regard for me that would keep him from turning me in. He held my life in his hands. Townsend’s life. Our entire ring of spies. “I can’t believe I took such a terrible risk—only to come away with information about stolen paper.”

I’d decided not to tell Townsend about the clue I’d found regarding Monk. Not yet. I’d learned over the past months that I trusted instinct while Townsend trusted facts. I worried he’d call the connection I’d made thin and try to discourage me. When I brought Monk to him, I’d have evidence that was indisputable.

“Your discovery is far from trifling, Miss Coates. If the British have obtained reams of the very paper we use to print our own currency, they could flood us with counterfeit money, driving down the value. Our starved and disheartened soldiers will be paid in useless dollars—and when soldiers go unpaid, they mutiny. They abandon their posts and return to their families. Warfare by counterfeit is a real problem. We stand no chance on the battlefield if we have no soldiers. Your find was a good one. A very good one indeed.”

I sighed. “Thank you for trying to find a bit of good in the mess I’ve made.”

“Miss Coates, we all commit errors. Please try to forgive yourself and forge ahead. Wasn’t it Virgil who said ‘Come what may, all bad fortune is to be conquered by endurance’?”