‘We’ve been waiting for over an hour.’ Sonya scanned the floodlit runway before stepping closer. ‘He’s not coming.’
I saw her lift my hands, her lips warm against my knuckles.
‘We don’t leave without him.’
She frowned at me. My hands went cold again.
‘And what if he’s dead? What if he’s been caught?’
‘He might be dead,’ I admitted. ‘He won’t have been caught.’
She shook her head and I wondered if she’ll leave like she did in Cairo.
‘We wait.’ She bit the words out. ‘Just like we always bloody do.’
I smiled. Once.
‘For him,’ she growled.