Even with the limited light available, Kate could see the sadness in McCormick’s face. There had never been a figure in her life who had held as much faith in her as McCormick, but just for once it felt like he didn’t believe in her. Not for this task, anyway.

Not that it matters, she thought. I’d be surprised if even one of us survives tomorrow. McCormick’s an old man. Alex has had Grant messing around inside his head. I’ve got Raj’s death affecting my judgement. And Ewan claims to be strong-minded and independent, but he’s useless without support from people he cares about.

Between the four of us, I don’t see any potential survivors.

*

It was Shannon’s third consecutive night in the Boys’ Brigade attic, having had only a daytime’s break between the Oakenfold mission ending and New London beginning. She had become used to the dark and dingy nature of the Underdogs’ comms unit, and this time the company wasn’t much brighter. Mark was stood downstairs near the entrance, using a tiny window on the front wall as a vantage point to watch for possible invaders. And next to her in the attic, Lorraine sat unsmiling next to a cold mug of tea.

Lorraine had changed over the course of the week. Or maybe hidden parts of her personality were becoming visible as times became more desperate. The uncompromising but loving nurse who had greeted her at Spitfire’s Rise three weeks earlier had become a harsh, openly wounded figure. By operating on McCormick, perhaps she had altered something inside herself too.

Shannon didn’t know whether Lorraine would allow a well-meaning conversation or dismiss it hurtfully, but it was worth a try. The silence in the attic was nothing short of painful.

‘Did I ever thank you?’ asked Shannon. ‘For taking care of me when I arrived?’

‘I didn’t do it to be thanked.’

Her voice was gruff, but not unkind.

‘Well… thank you anyway.’

‘You’re welcome.’

The answer might have been genuine. Shannon didn’t get the impression that Lorraine was trying to shut her up. But she was uncomfortable with the unenthused, generic responses, which suggested that Lorraine didn’t value her own place in the group as much as she deserved to.

‘You’re allowed to be proud of what you do, you know…’

Lorraine shot her a glance that was halfway between disbelief and offence.

‘And what makes you think I’d be proud?’

‘You save lives. Remember the last trip to New London? You treated Alex and Kate’s gunshot wounds, and even Ewan would be dead from infection if you hadn’t—’

‘I know the importance of what I do,’ Lorraine answered in a condescending voice. ‘But pride isn’t something I’m into. I do what I do out of duty, not to feel good about myself.’