Page 76 of Black Reign

GHOST: No.

VESPER: Dress code?

A pause.

GHOST: Wear something that makes me regret the anonymity agreement.

Heat crawls slowly up my neck.

Bastard.

VESPER: Maybe I wear sweatpants.

GHOST: Then wear exceptional sweatpants.

I smile despite myself.

VESPER: You're giving me an address in California and expecting me to appear without knowing whose wedding I'm attending.

GHOST: Correct.

VESPER: This is how women end up in documentaries.

GHOST: You know enough about me to know you're safe.

The smile fades.

Do I?

That is exactly the question.

I know Ghost.

Or I've convinced myself I do.

I know the man who stayed online with me when Papa died.

The one who remembers obscure Italian poetry and sends sarcastic messages when I disappear too long.

The one who can dismantle my code almost as quickly as I can dismantle his.

The one who has somehow become the first person I want to tell when something makes me laugh.

But I don't know his name.

His face.

His employer.

His family.

And now he has given me a location in California and asked me to trust him enough to walk through the gate.

That could be romantic.

It could also be operational.

I've worked around enough intelligence services to know the difference isn't always obvious until somebody closes the door behind you.