Him. Marshall didn’t say his name, but he was evidently talking about Benedikt. There were no other contenders to be the subject of such carefulness. She should have chided him immediately, but she couldn’t find it in herself. She had a heart, after all. She was the one who had put him here, away from everything—everyone—he loved.
“Has Benedikt Montagov seen you?” she asked tightly.
Marshall shook his head. “The one time he actually got himself in trouble, I shot everyone around him and ran.” At that, his eyes shifted up, a brief flicker of guilt appearing when he remembered who he was talking to. “It was quick—”
“Best not to think too deeply about it,” Juliette said, cutting him off. He had killed Scarlets; she would kill White Flowers. For as long as they lived, so long as the city remained divided, they would kill, and kill, and kill. In the end, would it matter? When the choice was between protecting those you loved and sparing the lives of strangers, who would ever think that to be a hard decision?
Juliette shifted to the window again, peering into the night. It was better lit out there than it was in here, the streetlamps humming happily in harmony with the wind. This safe house had been strategically chosen, after all: as far out as Juliette’s eye could see, there were no particular corners or nooks where anybody could be hiding, watching her as she looked out. Nevertheless, she surveyed the scene warily.
“Just be careful,” Juliette finally said, dropping the curtain. “If anyone sees you . . .”
“No one will,” Marshall replied. His voice had grown firm again. “I promise, darling.”
Juliette nodded, but there was a tightening sensation gripping her chest even as she tried for a smile. During these few months, she had expected Marshall to start resenting her. She had promised she would figure something out soon, but she still had Tyler breathing down her neck and no concrete way around it. Yet she hadn’t heard a word of complaint from Marshall. He had taken it in stride, even though she knew it ate him up inside to be stuck here.
She wished he would yell at her. Get angry. Tell her that she was useless, because that certainly seemed to be true.
But he only welcomed her in every visit like he had missed her dearly.
Juliette turned away, blinking rapidly. “There are rumors that there will be Communist-led riots on the streets tonight,” she said when she had her tear ducts under control. “Don’t go outside.”
“Understood.”
“Stay safe.”
“When am I not?”
Juliette reached for the now empty basket with a glare, but her malice at Marshall—even when feigned—was always half-hearted. Marshall grinned and sent her off with two big, swooping air kisses, still making the faintest noises even as Juliette closed the door after her and heard the locks bolt again on the other side.
She had to stop growing so fond of White Flowers. It would be the death of her.
Lord Montagov pushed the file right to the edge of his desk, giving Roma no choice but to reach out quickly and grab it lest the papers inside flutter to the floor. From the other corner of the desk, leaning upon the outside edge in an ever-so-casual slouch, Dimitri squinted, trying to read upside down as Roma flipped open the folder.
Roma doubted that Dimitri could pick out anything. Dimitri needed glasses, and the bulb light on Lord Montagov’s desk was not doing him any favors. It flooded the room in a cold, off-white color that treated their electric bills kindly but hurt the eyes to be near for long, casting a deathlike tinge on their skin.
“Comb through carefully, memorize the names of the clients we seek,” Lord Montagov instructed. “But that is your secondary goal. First and foremost, you are to keep track of the Scarlet effort with this blackmailer. Don’t let them gain an advantage. Don’t let them shove it on us. If the Scarlet Gang manage to rid themselves of the threat, the White Flowers should too.”
“It will come around to how they achieve it,” Roma replied evenly. “Whether we find the perpetrator or find a new vaccine.”
Finding the perpetrator would be a done and dusted deal. It didn’t matter which side shot the bullet or slashed their blade. A dead blackmailer was no blackmailer. But if the solution to the madness was a new vaccine, then it was a game of who could hold on to the secret and save themselves first.
Dimitri leaned forward, about to say something. Before he could, Roma slapped the file closed.
“Either way, I have it handled.”
A knock came on Lord Montagov’s office then, and the White Flower outside announced an incoming phone call. Roma pushed his chair back, making way for his father as Lord Montagov stood from behind his desk and exited the room. As soon as the door clicked, Dimitri wandered over to the other side of the desk and dropped into Lord Montagov’s chair.