When Netherton opened his eyes, after the call with Janice, he saw Rainey seated at the other end of the couch, her eyes closed. Studying, he assumed, the Qamishli time line Lowbeer had sent. He watched her, savoring her small fleeting expressions, her concentration, the seriousness he hadn’t known she possessed when they were still only colleagues. He resisted the urge to move closer, to take her hand.
Her eyes opened, met his. “Imagine being a parent in that. Did Lowbeer explain it to you?”
“The aunties,” Netherton said, “expect nuclear war.”
Thomas began to cry, from his crib.
She stood. “Absolutely horrible.”
“We’re trying to stop it,” he said, realizing to his surprise that actually, to whatever extent, they were.