“We can do it,” Phillip said, though the words came out sluggish. “Cancel out the frequency. I’ll need to make some adjustments, but—”

“Might as well leave now, then,” Simone said. “I don’t think we’re getting any more sleep tonight as it is.”

They packed up their things and left the bloodbath of the cabin behind. It was hard to see anything at all in the dead of night, but every time Rebeka closed her eyes, the behemoth was waiting: its surface ready to drink up all her fears. Its mountainous spine called to her, a siren singing her into the dark.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EVANGELINE

Stefan Neumann was a perfect gentleman, and he worked very hard to make sure everyone knew. Despite the shortages, Evangeline’s desk was never devoid of fresh-cut flowers, though of course he didn’t attach his name to their delivery. He arrived at Château á Pont Allemagne in a Mercedes polished until it gleamed like a wicked stepmother’s enchanted mirror. He held the door for her always, black leather gloves freshly oiled beneath the sharp cuffs of his uniform. And when they arrived at Maxim’s, he never used his rank to secure them the choicest table.

Not that anyone was going to deny anything to the Torturer of Troyes.

He waited until their lobster bisque had been brought out before he began that night’s interrogation, a shift Evangeline noticed only because he paused after inhaling before he spoke. His hair gleamed a gentle chestnut under the gas lamps, parted on the side as she’d suggested instead of straight down the middle, and he looked at her with a gaze he must have believed was boyish. Charming. Men were always so pleased when women returned their smiles, not realizing those smiles were like the jabs of knives, forcing a hostage’s response.

“I stopped by your office to bring you coffee this morning,” he said. “We got a new shipment at the headquarters, and I wanted to share.”

“What terrible timing!” Evangeline said, not missing a beat. “It must have been when I stepped out to fetch my sweater from home.” She rubbed her arms and tried not to cringe at how dry and scaly they’d become without her usual regimen. “This weather’s turned so suddenly, hasn’t it?”

“A pity. You should tell someone where you’ve gone next time. I’d hate for you to miss something important.”

Evangeline hovered over his phrasing longer than she should have. He couldn’t possibly have hidden a double meaning in it. He couldn’t possibly know what she did—the games she’d been playing since that awful April night. It was a casual remark, not the scalpel incision of a man trying to pry back her flesh. But even if it was . . .

She played it casual too, smiled prettily, and sipped her bisque.