Ben was still buzzing from the match when they entered Evan’s flat early Saturday evening. “I wish someone had been filming. I’d give your free kick thing a million views by myself. And now of course I’m totally obsessed with the massive power of your legs.”

Evan held him off at arm’s length. “Mind on, I’m absolutely reeking of sweat at the moment, legs and all.” Stepping away from Ben, he removed his jacket. “You hungry?”

“Famished. I could almost eat Trent.” He picked up the purring cat and made chomping noises against her neck. “Just kidding, my beauty.”

“While I shower, can you put the macaroni cheese in the oven? Instructions are on the dish in the fridge. It should be ready just after sunset in time to break your fast.”

“You cooked for me?”

Evan shrugged. “Usually after a match I make linguine primavera, but I knew you’d be starving and wouldn’t want to wait while I chopped the veg.”

Ben threw his arms around Evan’s neck and kissed him. “You are magic—oh, and yes, rather smelly.” He let go.

Evan moved past him to the table to pick up a phone Ben had never seen before. “Need to check for work messages.”

“Do you ever get a proper day off?”

Evan didn’t answer. His whole face seemed to narrow as he read the phone screen. Even the dimple in his chin furrowed deeper.

“Do you need to handle that?” Ben asked.

“Aye.” Evan switched off the phone and set it back on the table. “But I need the shower time to figure out how. The remote control’s on top of the telly if you want to watch something.”

“No, I need to—” Ben cleared his throat. “I need to pray.” It still felt weird acknowledging it out loud. “Ideally a short and a medium one before sunset.”

“Word of warning: If you get on the floor, Trent will want to be involved. Speaking as her unwilling yoga partner.”

As Ben put the macaroni cheese in the oven, then washed his hands and face at the kitchen sink, he tried not to think about Evan’s work phone sitting a few feet away. It killed him not to know what had been so concerning, but it would be illegal—and wrong—to snoop. Besides, the device was surely protected by a password or fingerprint or retina scan (or all three).

He could do this. He could be with a spy. After all, he’d resisted Andrew’s attempts to discover Evan’s job. He could do this.

His phone bleeped with the notification tone of his Bahá’í Prayers app, reminding him it was nearly sunset.

Right. Priorities.

He used the app’s compass to point him toward the Qiblih, the location of the Shrine of Bahá’u’lláh in northern Israel, then took a few deep breaths to put himself into the proper state of mind.

After he’d finished both prayers, the urge to pick up Evan’s work phone had passed. He couldn’t move, anyway, because Trent had crawled into his lap the moment he’d sat cross-legged on the floor for the prayer’s final section.

Twenty minutes later, Ben was already tearing into his second serving of macaroni cheese.

“Is it very difficult, fasting?” Evan asked as he scooped another spoonful onto his own plate.

“Sometimes, but that’s sort of the point.” Realizing he sounded pious, Ben gave a quick shrug. “At least it’s the same number of hours every year. Muslims have it much harder when Ramadan is in the summer.” He took another sip of water, trying not to gulp. “Overall, the Bahá’í Faith is pretty undemanding. No weekly services, no dietary restrictions apart from alcohol and tobacco, and best of all, no Crusades or Inquisitions. Just nineteen days of fasting plus the obligatory prayers—which, despite the name, aren’t meant to be a burden. We do them when we can, and when we can’t, that’s okay too.” He opened up a bit more, feeling safe with Evan. “I’m happier when I pray every day. It makes me feel, I don’t know…” Closer to God. “Centered.”

Evan brightened. “Oh, like meditation?”

“Sort of.” Ben considered leaving it at that, to build a bridge between their experiences. But the two of them were different, and they should deal with that sooner rather than later. “Most Western meditation is human-oriented, not divine.”

“True. I couldn’t meditate if I had to focus on a god I don’t believe in.” Evan gave him a look of regret. “Sorry.”

“No bother.” Ben waved his fork. “I don’t care if you share my beliefs as long you respect them.”

“I do.”

“I know.” He gave Evan a soft smile, feeling drunk on carbs. “Don’t worry, I won’t try to convert you. Bahá’ís don’t proselytize, like, ever. If someone’s clearly seeking, we offer guidance, but how they respond is up to them.”

“Still, you clearly love your faith, so why wouldn’t you want to share it with others?”

Ben smirked. “Because historically, when other religions have ‘shared their faith,’ it’s usually been at sword point.”

“Fair enough. Hey, did you know there’s a Bahá’í center in Orkney?”

“Really?” Ben was amazed, as there were only a few hundred Bahá’ís in all Scotland. “I always picture Orcadians as rather traditional.”

“Most are, but there’s a constant influx of free-spirited ferry loopers. We welcome all sorts from ‘doon Sooth’ and beyond.” Evan cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Talking of Orkney, my sister’s wedding is in two weeks, the day after the solar eclipse. Would you like to come with me?”

Ben nearly dropped his fork. “Seriously? Yes! Yes, of course.”

“It’s the twenty-first. That’s a holiday for you, right?”

“Och, right, it’s Naw-Rúz. It’d be my first time away from my mum for the new year.” He sighed. “The eclipse will be even better up north, right?”

“Ninety-eight percent totality.”

“And to see an Orcadian wedding in person…” Ben gasped again. “Will you be in a kilt?”

“They’re not really part of our culture.”

“Oh.”

Evan waited a beat. “But my sister’s marrying a Scotsman, so…” He gave a mischievous grin. “Kilts ahoy.”

“Yas!” Ben punched the air in triumph. “You’re sure it’s not too late to add me as a guest?”

“My sister said she’d happily find room for my new partner.”

Ben stared at him, his mouth suddenly dry despite all the water he’d drunk. “I’m your partner?”

Evan’s smile faltered. “Is that a problem?”

“No, I—” Ben felt his face flush. “It’s been six years since anyone called me partner or boyfriend.”

“We could call each other kjæreste,” Evan said, pronouncing it SHA-rest-uh. “It’s Norwegian for ‘dearest one,’ and it’s non-gender.”

“Call me whatever you like. I just hope I can…” Keep you. Ben cleared his throat. “I hope I can find some proper clothes. Your family’ll have one look at my urban wardrobe and chuck me in the harbor with the other ferry troopers.”

“Ferry loopers. If this is moving too fast for you—”

“It’s not.” Ben took a deep breath. “It is fast, but I like it that way. Not normally, I mean, not with anyone else. Just you.”

“Good.” Evan linked his hand with Ben’s, then leaned over and kissed him, slow and sweet, as though searching for doubt.

But there was none to be found. As Ben sank into the kiss, the last shred of uncertainty faded away.

Interesting.

Gunnar’s one-word response to Jordan’s text kept echoing in Evan’s head as he and Ben did the washing-up after dinner. On one level, interesting was a lie; on another level, it was an understatement.

“Does she ever not want attention?” Ben asked, tossing Trent’s jingly plastic football for the eleventh time.

“Sometimes when she’s asleep. It’s like having a dog, except she’s clean and quiet.” Trent yawped with indignation as the tiny football went out of her reach beneath the couch. “She’s clean, at least,” Evan added.

Such domestic harmony couldn’t keep him from ruminating on the link Jordan had sent Gunnar: an essay about how “Western values” like feminism and LGBTI rights were a threat to all “great civilizations”—the greatest, of course, being the British Empire, as if that was still a thing. Evan marveled that Jordan couldn’t see the parallels between such reactionary thinkers and the Islamic extremists they targeted.

Evan’s body was here washing the dishes, but his mind was dying to delve into this essayist, see what else he’d written and how influential he was. This urge disturbed him—couldn’t he leave his work at the office and enjoy a few peaceful hours with Ben? It was easy to fall into the trap of thinking, If I stop working, people might die. Especially since that was true.

He could do this. He could be a good spook and a good partner. He could live two lives, without one oozing over into the other. He could do this.

“Oh, big news!” Ben said, tossing another cat toy with a flourish. “Michael and Philip from the Rainbow Regiment asked me to handle their wedding.”

Evan froze, recalling the ISIS flag on that laptop screen. “Did you say yes?”

“I’ve not decided yet. But the poor lads are desperate.”

“Hm.” Evan turned away and opened the freezer to hide the worry on his face. “Aren’t you too busy with uni?”

“Absolutely.”

“And what about your mum? Won’t she be upset?”

“Yes. It’s a dilemma. Ooh, you got ice cream, too? I am pure smitten with you just now.” As Evan set the ice cream on the worktop, Ben slipped into his arms. “Do I seem cheap, my affection so easily bought with fatty foods?”

“You’re the opposite of cheap.” Evan pulled him close and buried his face in Ben’s hair. The thought of this man in danger again…

Ben kissed Evan’s neck and pulled away. “Now go and rest your tired superhero legs while I make us tea.”

Evan headed for the couch, relieved to have a few minutes to cope with his rising dread.

He and his team had spent the week assessing what appeared to be an ISIS-inspired threat to same-sex weddings. Evan, Lewis, and Adira had pored over chat-room discussions and social-media posts about the St. Andrew’s evacuation, with Adira handling the Arabic, Persian, Pashtun, and Urdu conversations. Despite the lack of attack, the online activity was eerily similar to that following an actual ISIS-inspired incident. Yet Adira noted that many of the posts, even by supposed Muslims, showed a limited understanding of Islam. The religion’s portrayal, she said, was almost a caricature, “as though the true audience wasn’t Muslim at all.”

The mysterious white Outlander, meanwhile, had been found abandoned in a ditch south of Glasgow, far from any CCTV coverage. The police were forensically examining the vehicle, but unless its occupants were already in the DNA and fingerprint databases due to a previous arrest, no match would come up.

After procuring a warrant to covertly surveil the video-maker’s flat, Evan and Ned had paid a visit to the block of short-term rentals in St. Andrew’s Square. While Evan distracted the kindly Ukrainian octogenarian landlady by inquiring after a temporary home for his visiting mum, Ned installed a listening device in the filmmaker’s flat—a flat which had remained silent and empty ever since.

The video itself made the least sense of all. With most terrorists “going dark” in the face of government surveillance, who would be foolish enough to post that video where any intelligence officer worth their salt could discover it?

Still, the videographer had used the semi-defunct Imageo site, so perhaps they’d tried to hide it and failed. But maybe that was the point: to leave a trail of bread crumbs, not a trail of neon blinking arrows.

By the end of the week, Evan and his team had begun to wonder whether it was all a stitch-up. The British Values Party had motive to frame Muslims for a potential attack, but Evan doubted those fascist fuckwits could run a pub quiz, much less a complex disinformation campaign. The almost childish numerical code for the video title—A = 1, B = 2—was too simple and common to be a sure signature. Just because neo-Nazis liked to use it for their tattoos didn’t mean they’d used it here.

Evan needed to know more, which is why he planned to attend his first BVP meeting next week. He’d be alone in the lion’s den—unlike at the rally, he’d have no police backup.

Backups fail anyway, came a rogue thought. In the end, I’m all I’ve got.

Ben appeared with a tray of ice cream and tea. Instead of setting it on the coffee table, he stood before Evan with a determined look on his face. “I’ve decided to do Michael and Philip’s wedding.”

Evan fought to hide his dismay. “Are you sure?” On the slim chance the threat was real, Ben could be in danger.

“It’s just a wedding-day coordination job, so yes, I can find the time. Somehow.”

Evan wanted to dissuade him but knew if he pushed too hard, Ben might get suspicious, maybe even guessing why Evan was worried. And if Evan told him why and got caught, he and Ben could both go to prison.

Then there was the risk to national security. Ben might warn Michael and Philip, who might cancel their wedding and alert others in the community. Soon the terrorists would know the authorities were onto them. They’d go silent and cautious, remaining on the loose until they carried out a successful attack elsewhere.

“The bigger worry is Mum. She’ll throw a strop for sure.” Ben set down the tray, then straightened up, crossing his arms. “But I can’t live in fear, you know?”

I know. You have no idea how much I know. “Tell me how I can help.”

Ben dropped his arms, shoulders slumping in relief. “Thank you. That means a lot.” He settled onto the couch beside Evan and gave him a sweet, lingering kiss. Then he picked up the remote control. “Now, if we’re to be boyfriends, we must find ‘our’ show, one we both love equally. It’s a requirement, I hear.”

They watched the first episode of three new Netflix programs, which Evan barely registered, his mind whirling with a hundred different outcomes, none of them good.

Halfway through the second program, he remembered with a start the reason Kay had let him stay on Operation Caps Lock—had let him stay in Glasgow, full stop: Ben was no longer handling same-sex weddings. Now that his partner was a potential victim again, Evan could no longer be impartial.

He looked down at Ben lying on his chest, fitted perfectly between his legs with a blanket draped over them both. Trent was curled up on Ben’s stomach, somehow sleeping through the lap-quakes of his laughter.

Evan would do anything to protect this happiness from all enemies, real and imagined, and especially to protect the man who had bestowed it. Taking himself out of the operation could make everyone, including Ben, less safe. Evan would stay on Caps Lock and hope that Kay never found out about this new wedding.

And if Ben was determined not to live in fear, Evan would teach him how.