Number Seven considered another large whiskey. He looked at Dolce and Gabbana, the goldfish, and internally cursed all desk work. He must have sighed audibly because Sorrow, sitting across one of the armchairs with her long legs hooked over one arm and her unfolded yPhone resting against her thighs looked up and glared at him. It was a useful glare. He went back to staring at CCTV footage on his own yPhone.

It was deathly boring. Going through every second of CCTV from multiple cameras frame by frame. Some organisational genius from the Department had split the job up and sent different sections of the footage to different yPhones, laptops and desktops. Every frame had to be scrutinised by at least two sets of eyes in addition to the facial recognition software.

Enough. He couldn’t avoid the boredom but he was damned if he’d be bored and sober. He poured himself another whisky. And one for Sorrow since he was on his feet anyway. She didn’t notice his outstretched hand so he tapped the glass on the sole of her boot till she looked up.

'Ooh thanks.' She held his gaze for a moment. 'You’re exhausted.'

'I’m certainly tired of looking at pictures of Jude meditating away an erection.'

'Go to bed. I’ll be up in a bit. I’ll just finish here and then check the perimeter.'

Seven downed the rest of the whisky and headed for the concealed door.

#

Sorrow went back to looking at her screen. Not at still images of the Beta House but moving images of the bedroom of the Alpha house. She’d already been through the whole night’s footage once. Watching the images at 6x normal speed whenever she could spare the attention to her phone. She hadn’t found anything but maybe whatever had put the feathers on the bed had moved too quick for her to catch at that speed.

Now she was going through the footage from that morning. Trying to see if the feathers were there when she got out of the bed and if not then at what point they had arrived. Could Officer Dee have put them there? He had been alone in the bedroom. It didn’t make any sense but then he was a spy. Spies did things for all kinds of weird reasons that would make no sense to normal people.

But damn he looked good with his shirt off.

Enough staring. The real thing was upstairs and entirely available if she felt like it. He was probably in bed already.

No. Concentrate on the job. Be professional. Secure the building.

Sorrow headed for the kitchen knowing that any British or Commonwealth soldier with nothing else to do will always gravitate to the nearest kettle.

Sergeant Dean was sitting at the breakfast table, mug of tea in hand, staring out of the window into the darkness of the garden.

'Perimeter check?' he said.

'Yep. The package is off to bed.'

Sergeant Dean spoke into his throat mic. 'Perimeter check. Three Alpha, go babysit the package.'

Sorrow waited by the front door while Three Alpha came in from the cold then she bounded down the front steps with Sergeant Dean in tow.

Frost crunched underneath her feet and Sorrow shivered and rubbed her arms and briefly considered going back for her coat.

'He’s in a hurry to get to bed,' said Sergeant Dean. 'Tires easy does he?'

'He’s just sick of looking at CCTV footage,' said Sorrow.

'And it hasn’t occurred to you that he wants to get you to bed as soon as possible?'

'Do you have something you want to say to me?'

'He likes you. You like him. Why haven’t you done anything about it?' said Dean.

'I am not having this conversation with you because I like you and I don’t want to have to kill you,' said Sorrow, still shivering.

'Ooh. You like me. Should I buy a ring and get invitations printed?' They turned down the alley that ran along the side of the house.

Sorrow sighed a cloud of steaming breath. 'Why does everybody have an opinion about my sex life except me?'

'Because you’ve got a Goddess in your head and maybe she has needs,' said Dean.

'You what now?' said Sorrow.

'People get cranky when they’re not getting any. I did some reading about the Morrigan and I do not want to find out what she’s like when she’s cranky.' The Sergeant vaulted the wall into the back garden of the safe house.

Sorrow stared after him for a moment before leaping over the wall. She tramped through the bushes on the edge of the garden while Sergeant Dean checked the cluster of small trees.

'You might have a point,' she said when they met up again.

'I get that you might not want to give him the satisfaction. He does seem like an arrogant prick. But screw his satisfaction. Take yours. Whatever else he is, he’s a first class tart. He’s not going to turn you down and he’s not a 3 minute wonder. And if you can’t find it in your heart to be gentle with him in his weakened state, and he crawls out of bed in the morning looking like he went 5 rounds with a bulldozer so much the better.'

They walked the path that ran along the side of the house. 'But the cameras,' said Sorrow.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

'We only have access to the feed from the heat camera. None of the rest. Scout’s honour. We don’t even check that unless there’s an alert from the automated system or we hear a weird noise or something. There’s a limit to how turned on a man can get looking at a two reddish orange blobs turning into one big reddish orange blob.'

They reached the front of the house and re-entered by the front door.

'I don’t suppose there's any point telling you to give him one for us?' said the Sergeant.

'There’s nothing stopping you giving him one yourself. He’s not gay but he is flexible,' said Sorrow.

'Not my type,' said Sergeant Dean as Sorrow opened the book case, 'Too posh, no tits.'

#

Number Seven sat on the bed, waiting. Back against the padded headboard. Legs stretched out beneath the covers. He was naked above the covers and he knew exactly how he looked.

He checked his email while he waited. He half expected to see something from Four explaining herself. Knowing her it would look like an old ex trying to reconnect. Something bland enough not to be flagged by SIS but personal enough to catch his eye.

There was nothing from Four but there was something from Sorrow. It had a carefully mundane subject line. 'For your information'. But when he opened it he found that she had attached a link to the CCTV from this very room from the night before.

He checked the time of the message. She’d sent it to him that morning. Almost as soon as she’d known about the feathers. The text of the message explained that the Department tracked who viewed the footage and that if anyone other than the two of them looked at it they would get an alert.

Tapping the link took him to the already familiar video viewing app. But now it showed hours of footage from 3 different cameras and apparently Sorrow had already watched it all. Some parts of it more than once. The prosaic lists of viewing times shows that she’d watched it at high speed and in snatches through the day. She’d paid particular attention to the end of the footage. To the morning. Between the time she got out of bed and the time he revealed the feathers.

Did she think that he’d put the feathers there or was she looking for some moment when they were both out of the room?

Or had she just been watching him dress? No. Surely not. Well, not more than once.

He heard her footsteps on the stairs. He put the yPhone down on the bedside table, checked the position of the duvet against his body for maximum effect, put his hands behind his head and prepared a winning smile.

She arrived with a blast of chilly air that she’d somehow carried into the house and up the spiral stairs with her.

He could see her straining to look at anything in the room other than him. He was tempted to tell her that looking was perfectly fine with him but there was no way to say that without sounding as vain as Number Six. Instead he said, 'Do you need help with your boots?'

'And you’re sure you don’t have a thing about feet?' she said as she approached.

He expected her to sit on the bed but instead she stood on one leg, raised the other and remained completely motionless while he unfastened the ankle strap and pulled down the zip. He pulled on the boot, expecting her to wobble or even overbalance and fall, but she was absolutely still. He gave her the boot and held out his hand for the other foot.

'Have you ever considered a career in dance? Ballet perhaps?' he said as he removed the second boot.

'Gave up ballet when I was 9. When they told me I’d probably hit 6 foot. I kept up tap and Irish dance till I was 12 but I didn’t like how the local dance teacher talked to my little sisters so I told her to get fucked.' She put the boots in the wardrobe and grabbed her things from the top of the Bergan.

'Little sisters?' said Seven. 'Your file said your mother...,' the words were out of his mouth before he remembered that for most people the death of a parent is a private and traumatic event not just another prosaic item on a laundry list of loss as it was for the Blanks.

'Died giving birth to me,' she finished it for him. 'Yes she did but my Dad remarried. I’ve got two step brothers, a half brother and three half sisters. My stepmum is Nepali. So I’ve punched a lot of racists in my life. And even a few actual Nazis. The dance teacher got off lightly.'

She left for the Bathroom. As soon as her back was turned he snatched up his yPhone and checked her file. Even on the yPhone the details of her family were redacted but just searching her name on the Department Y information hub brought up images of her with people who had to be family. There was one of her with her arms round two much shorter men in the parade uniform of the Royal Gurkha rifles. They looked like twins. Presumably the step brothers. She might share no DNA with the twins but they all had the same smiles. Perhaps the stepmother was the smiler of the family and they all learned it from her.

She came back from the bathroom before he’d had a chance to look at the rest of her family. Her face was scrubbed and she smelled of toothpaste. She wore a slash-necked too-big t-shirt with the words ‘Fools rush in’ in massive flowing script across the front and not much else.

He had to agree with the shirt. He did want to rush in and it was certainly foolish.

'I think I’ve been waiting all my life for a woman who can get ready for bed as quickly as you.'

She switched off the lights. In the moment when the room was dark and he was momentarily blind he heard her leap for the bed. She landed next to him as light as a feather. She slipped under the duvet and wriggled down the bed. Her arm brushed his side as she moved and he almost yelped in surprise. She was icy cold.

'Christ, you’re freezing.'

'Sorry. I went out without my coat,' she said.

'Can you not do that in future? For my sake if not for your own. At least let me rub some heat into you.'

'Is that a euphemism?' she said but she rolled towards him and laid one chilly arm on his chest. He nearly gasped.

'I got your email,' he said as he rubbed her hand, 'About the footage from this room. Did you find anything?'

'Not so far but I’ve been rushing. Maybe you’ll see something I’ve missed.'

'I wasn’t expecting access,' he said.

'The Department is different.' She gave him her other, equally cold, hand. 'We keep secrets from everyone else. Not from each other.'

'Sounds unlikely,' said Seven.

'I’m not saying we’ve got no secrets. We’ve even got a Historian of Secrets to keep track of what they all are and who knows which ones and who we’re allowed to tell. It’s just that a lot of them are stuff that we don’t talk about because it’s dangerous to say out loud, like Cepha’s true name. Or it’s something you’re supposed to work out for yourself once you’re ready for the truth, like who Cepha is. Or it would just be rude to discuss, like how old Alex is.'

'Wait. How old is Alex?'

'That’s the one you’re curious about? It’s her secret. You’d have to ask her. Or go through the files and work it out.' Sorrow took her now thoroughly warmed hand back. She rolled away from him and back to what she seemed to regard as her half of the bed.

'Do you know who Cepha is?'

'Not yet. I don’t have the education to figure it out yet. I’m working on it. I know she’s been around for a long time. She’s been the chief of Department Y since 1942.'

'That’s impressive,' said Seven, not believing a word of it.

'I keep meaning to ask about her skincare routine,' said Sorrow.

Seven said nothing. He lay on his back in the dark staring up at the fluid patterns of light thrown on the ceiling from the fish tank. He listened for the change in her breathing. He was so tired that he almost missed it but she started snoring and people usually have to be asleep to do that.

He rolled towards her, revelling in the scent of her hair and her skin, and slipped his arm around her waist. She moved in her sleep. For a moment he thought he’d woken her but she laid her arm on top of his and pulled him closer.