“Then her brother’s an idiot.” She hadn’t thought he was. Had in fact been sure he wasn’t. But everyone was an idiot about something, and apparently Lieutenant Elton’s something was his sister.

The admiral laughed outright at that. “You ought to visit him in hospital and tell him so, my dear. Might get his dander up enough to rally him.” He stood up again and tugged the hem of his uniform jacket back into place. “At any rate, I wanted to let you know what news I will be giving your friend during her lunch break, so that you might support her—to whatever extent she may require, be it much or little. I trust you don’t object to that?”

Rather than answer straightaway, she let the actual news sink in, dig down. Let her brows sink with it. Drake Elton, injured and on his way to Charing Cross. “How bad is he? Will he live?”

His rapid blinks told her nothing, nor did his face. “That, I think, depends on the strength of his will and the grace of the Almighty. He took a gunshot to the abdomen.”

Margot winced. “Eighty-seven percent.”

Hall lifted his brows.

“The mortality rate of gunshot wounds to the abdomen.” She wasn’t sure where she’d read or heard the number—probably a newspaper or magazine that someone had left lying about.

“A statistic I pray you will keep to yourself.”

She’d physically bite her tongue, if necessary. “Any mitigating circumstances?”

“It went through and through—that’s all I know. I daresay your percentages would depend on whether any vital organs were struck, but I haven’t that information just yet.”

Margot shifted to the side to clear his path to the door. “You’ll tell her now?”

After a glance to the clock that verified it was nearly the time the secretaries broke to eat, he nodded.

Margot followed him out his office door, realizing only when they were in the corridor that he’d said absolutely nothing about her presence here today, in direct violation of his order to take a week off. Perhaps he was just glad to have her on hand now, to be there for Dot.

Or perhaps he understood that this was home and the people here were family, every bit as much as Lukas and Willa and Zurie.

They found Dot still at her desk, just reaching down to gather the lunch she’d packed at Margot’s flat that morning. Upon looking up and spotting them, her face went blank. Not panicked, not worried, nothing to show an impending falling-to-pieces as Hall had feared. Just the emptiness of careful control.

Margot gave her a small nod. Approval—support.

The admiral cleared his throat. “If you’ve a moment, Miss Elton, I’m afraid there’s something I must tell you.”