Three minutes passed. Eight. How long were they going to make her sweat? Hours? Surely even Stefan didn’t have the patience for that. No, surely he’d be coming any minute to gloat and berate and torment, and God only knew what other tortures he had in store—

The cell door swung open, and he entered. Alone.

Evangeline’s wrists tensed within their shackles.

“Hello, Magpie.” He cricked his neck from side to side, took his time tugging on those leather gloves she hated so. They squeaked across his skin, too oiled, too broken in. “It is Magpie, yes? All these silly code names you cowards make up, to play at waging war.”

“Yes, we’re not nearly sophisticated enough for terms like Einsatzgruppen and the Torturer of Troyes.”

All the kid leather in the world couldn’t soften the crack of his knuckles against her jaw. Her head spun from the force of the blow, neck radiating with stabbing pain. Slowly, she twisted back to face him head-on and raised her chin, despite the blood she felt welling on her lower lip.

“Such a mouth on you,” he said. “I almost forget how delicate you are. With little bird’s bones.”

She tucked one thumb into her palm. He was right about that.

“Ordinarily I’d let you stew in your own failure for a few days. Let you soil yourself, get hungry and thirsty and delirious. Desperate. I do so wish I could hear what kind of bargaining and pleading and begging you’d do in such a state.” One finger ran down the side of her face, and she felt acid in her throat. “But I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage, Magpie. Wewelsburg Castle is under assault, and you, it seems, were in touch with its attackers. They aren’t responding to our radio calls. So I fear we must rush this.”

Evangeline did her best not to sigh with relief. Probably half an hour until she was supposed to check in with Simone. Simone, who might at this very minute be waiting desperately for her to answer, to fend off countless guards—

“Understand, though, that urgency cuts both ways, little girl. If you don’t give us what we need, in the time we need it, then—” His eyes slitted. “You’ll be the one who’s out of time.”

“Tempting,” Evangeline said. “But . . . I think I like my way better.”

Another crack, this time on the other side of her jaw. It was so loud, so sharp, that it disguised the softer pop of cartilage elsewhere; it certainly lent authenticity to the agonized expression on her face.

“And what,” Stefan said, “is your way?”

“I thought it was past time you took me dancing,” Evangeline said.