He did not lose himself in the cool and logical crackling challenge of numbers and letters and puzzles; he felt the clean-edged satisfaction of solutions, but he held onto Stephen’s image. The scorching press of Stephen’s kiss. The leap of Will’s own heart upon seeing that familiar silhouette, every time.
That part was easy. Colby’s heart had done the same when Jason had walked in the door.
Jason was here. Had come. Had wanted to come. That’d happened.
He nearly laughed aloud mid-scene, and he did not know where that’d come from: buoyant and airy.
He bent back to a smudged half-torn message instead.
He finished working out a time and a place and a plan. He glanced at the clock.
On cue, the fictional Lord Cary’s courier came in. “My lord Easterly—”
“Yes,” Colby interrupted. “Here. It
