“My brother spent an exorbitant amount of time after each flying lesson painting inspired, sky-filled vistas,” Sophie continued. “In the end, I confess, he became a far better pilot than a painter, though I will gouge out my eyeballs with a dessert fork before I ever tell him that.” She resumed rubbing her rag over the barrel of the gun.

Estelle slid into the chair across from Sophie. “Do you really think he’s still alive? Your brother?”

The rag stopped midbarrel. “Ah.”

“I listen.”

“I know.”

With slow movements, Sophie set the rag down and silently slid an envelope out from under the corner of the blanket beneath the gun. She extracted a packet that contained ration cards for food, clothing, and tobacco; a birth certificate; an identity card; and a rail card. Things Estelle would expect from an agent. With those documents, however, was a collection of photos, all glossy, professional-looking pictures of Sophie. In each, her hair had been expertly styled, her makeup skillfully applied.

Sophie pushed the papers and photos aside. From the envelope, she pulled out two more small, square photos, both of them ragged around the edges, both creased and worn.

The first was an image taken in bright sunshine, the blond ice princess sitting bareback on a horse with her knees and elbows a muddy mess, laughing into the camera. The second was of a grand-looking house, settled amongst a diorama of shrubs and trees.

“One of the very first things they teach in spy school, besides guns, is not to talk about yourself unless one is alone with a fellow staff member who acknowledges that you are speaking under certain conditions. There was even a code name for those certain conditions.”

“And what constituted certain conditions?”

Sophie smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Funny you should ask, because I never really got a straight answer to that question. My interpretation was that it was an interval of official debriefing between staff or colleagues.”

Estelle shook her head. “Is that what we’re doing here? Debriefing? Because I’m pretty sure that we’re long past debriefing. That the last five days has been a disembowelment of my entire life and every secret that I possess. While all I really know about you is that you grew up somewhere near the sea, you enjoy target practice, you have a brother who became a pilot, and that your parents and husband died. All of which could be completely made up.”

“Mmm.”

Estelle wasn’t sure if that was a confirmation that Sophie had spoken the truth. Or a confirmation that she had not.

“Here.” Sophie set the two photos in front of Estelle. “This is my acknowledgement that we are speaking under those certain conditions. Because I think you’re right. We’re long past the point of secrets.” She paused. “My husband used to say that trust is everything.”

“What?”