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“MI6 needs to make an arrest or shut us down eventually. We have to serve up someone,” I say.

Epiphany fills his eyes. Fades to strategy.

He nods, thinking it over. “Let me make a call. Hang tight.” He takes the shot of ouzo himself, grabs the bottle, and slips out of the room.

I hear him, speaking in Greek for a minute.

Then silence. He goes downstairs and moves around the kitchen. At least, I think it’s the kitchen. I hear the water run.

The sky turns to a paler shade of blue. Dawn is breaking.

I was out a long time. I could be anywhere in the Mediterranean at this point.

Matteo still thinks of me as a monster. He isn’t going to believe a ransom from my organization.

He’ll see through that.

But Yorgos should see that too. Olympus should see that too.

We’re all smart enough to know a spy isn’t going to fully flip after two weeks with a woman who betrayed him again.

Eventually, I could win him over. I’m that good. Our connection too.

But that would take years.

This doesn’t add up.

I’m missing something.

What the hell is it?

I don’t have time to consider it. My captor slash fake ally steps into the room with a smile.

“My handler likes your plan,” he says. “She’s going to send me a fake laptop. It should be here before he is. And that will buy you another week or two to have your way with him. Maybe a month. Maybe, you’ll get lucky, and you’ll have another long-term mission. This time, you can say those magic words. ‘Til death do us part.’” He laughs at his own joke.

“No,” I say.

“No?” He asks. “You don’t want to spend more time coming on his face?”

No. I need to stop this. I need to say something. “What if I told you I want my freedom?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“That I’ll do anything for it?

“Jamie, don’t humiliate yourself. I know you don’t want to fuck me,” he says.

My cheeks flush. Okay. I’m not as good at acting as I used to be. So I need to meant his. I close my eyes and I think of how much I want to live without a leash. “You do this for money. I have money. If I asked you to say he killed me… that would be plausible.”

He turns it over, considering his answer, considering whether he believes me.

Outside, the wind picks up.

Leaves from the olive trees scrape against the house. They’re almost loud enough to mask the approaching footsteps.

He doesn’t hear them. But he sees the change in my face.

"There must be something you want,” I say with as much calm as I can manage. As if I’m still negotiating and not planning my counter-attack.