As his plane broke through the clouds, revealing the green fields and silver lochs of Orkney Mainland, Ben felt the same lurch in his chest he used to feel when he’d fly into Glasgow after a trip abroad. It felt like coming home.

In the eight hours between decision and takeoff, Ben had prepared for this trip as much as possible: packing his roughest clothes so he could pitch in with the lambing, baking a second batch of pistachio biscuits to bestow upon the Muirs, rehearsing what he’d say to Evan.

But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the man he loved standing alone upon the rainy tarmac at Kirkwall Airport.

Why had he waited so long to reach out to Evan? he wondered, wishing the airport people would hurry up and stick the stairs on the side of the plane so he could disembark. The last week seemed like a bad dream from which he couldn’t wake himself.

It had taken Evan’s video to yank him out of that self-induced nightmare. And why that? Ben had no explanation apart from pure and simple instinct, the same unstoppable force that led those lambs to rise on their wobbly legs and latch onto a ewe teat.

It wasn’t the lambs in that video that had drawn him here, but rather Evan’s reaction to them: his soft laughter, the gentleness and joy in his voice. Ben had needed to hear it up close in person, needed to be with the man who, despite all he’d suffered, could still make such happy noises.

He was first out the door, hurrying down the metal stairs, not caring they were already slick with the driving rain, not caring how un-Orcadian he looked sprinting across the tarmac in his black skinny jeans and bright-yellow high-tops.

A few feet from Evan he stopped short. “Oh.”

Evan’s bloodshot blue eyes widened. “‘Oh’ what?”

“Nothing. You look…”

“Complete shite?”

Ben nodded slowly. “It’s kind of a miracle.”

“I’ve not slept much. I’ve had a shower, but some of the lambing smells don’t really…leave.” He opened his arms. “Just as a peedie warning.”

Ben stepped forward into the warmest—and yes, stinkiest—embrace of his life. “I’m sorry.” Och, he’d wanted to wait until they were in the car before crying. “I’m so sorry.”

“No. You’re here.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“I could never hate you.” Evan’s arms tightened around his back. “Can we make this work? Please?”

“Yes.” Ben prayed it was true. “Somehow.”

Other things Ben had been unprepared for: the real-life cuteness of newborn lambs and the equally real-life stench of all things farming. He’d tried rubbing menthol cream beneath his nose to mask the odors, but it burned like mad on his chapped skin and lips. And anyway, he got used to the smell after the first day.

There was little time for him and Evan to talk, but that was fine. They didn’t need words when they could communicate with soft eyes and warm smiles. And though their bodies were too tired and achy for sex—and the farmhouse too small for privacy—they had the strength to hold each other as they plummeted into deep and dreamless sleep.

Wednesday evening, Ben and Evan were laying down new hay in the antepartum pen, which now held but a dozen ewes. Evan would heave a bale from the pile in the corner, unbind it, then pitch the hay onto the floor in big chunks, which Ben would trample into bedding. It was dusty, scratchy work, and after three days he’d barely enough energy to drag his feet, much less lift his knees, but he didn’t complain.

“I’m away tomorrow,” he reminded Evan. “Need to prepare for Saturday’s wedding.” His mother had taken over some of the planning work for the event—which she would be attending, much to his surprise. “Will you come with me?”

Evan grunted as he clipped the wire surrounding a new bale. “I’ll be back in Glasgow Sunday for work Monday.”

“What about the friendly match Saturday?”

“I’ll not be fit to play. Besides, the flock needs me.”

“Lambing’s almost done. Your mum said you could leave.” When Evan didn’t answer, Ben added, “I need you.”

Evan straightened up, then stabbed his pitchfork down into the bale to secure it. “I need you too.” He removed his cap and swiped the dust from his sweaty forehead. “So what do we do about that?”

Ben stopped stomping the hay. Here it was. The Conversation.

“Coffee first?” Evan asked.

“Yes, please.” Ben had always been more of a tea person, but farm work required stronger stuff.

They took their mugs and sat on a hay bale near the edge of the shed.

“I’m not sure where to start,” Ben said, “other than I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. Quite the opposite.”

“I know. You thought you were a danger to my cover.”

“Which means a danger to your life. The thought of you kidnapped by terrorists and paraded in front of a camera to be—” He shut his eyes hard, but couldn’t blot out the image of a machete to Evan’s neck. “And I can’t ask you to quit MI5. It’s your calling. You’d hate me for making you give it up.”

“Ben, I told you I could never hate you.”

“It’s more than that. I can’t rob this country and this world of your service. You’re too valuable to lose. And to what? What would you be if not a spy?”

“A farmer.”

Ben started to laugh, but then he saw Evan’s somber face. “Really?”

“Listen.” Evan set his coffee mug on the floor. “I’ve decided to leave the Service and move home.” He spread his hands. “This is where I belong.”

Ben’s jaw dropped. “You want this to be your life?”

“I want this to be my life.” He took Ben in his arms and kissed him softly. “I want you.”

“That’s what I’m trying to say. You don’t need to leave MI5 for me.”

“But you said you couldn’t handle the secrecy.”

“I’ll learn to handle it. I’ll learn to cope with the unknowable.” He kissed Evan. “You’re worth it.”

“It’s not fair for you to make all the concessions.” He let go of Ben but kept hold of his hand. “We could be happy here. We could have a flat in Stromness or Kirkwall, and you could get a job with one of the marine-energy firms. You could even do weddings on the side.”

Ben’s head spun—with excitement that Evan was willing to take this step, and with a bit of annoyance that he’d sorted Ben’s future without consulting him. “And you would work here?”

“Aye, maybe take over the place with my brothers when my parents retire. It seems boring, but it’s not. On a farm, every day is different. And my family need me. This island needs loads more young people to keep it—”

“The world needs you more. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.” He clutched Evan’s hands between his own. “You’re right, we could be happy here. But neither of us thinks being happy is enough. You know how dangerous this world is. You can never unknow that. And to know that but do nothing, to retreat into a world of animals when there are so many humans who need you? That wouldn’t make you happy for long.”

“It would. And you could be helping the world—actually doing something about climate change—at one of these companies.”

“If I got hired. There are hundreds of candidates for each job, and most of the positions I’d want require a Master’s degree. So I’ve put in my application at—” The name stuck in his throat, so he had to literally cough it up. “At GCHQ.”

Evan stared at him. “What? Why?”

“Because there are people who’d like to kill me for the sin of planning gay weddings, and I’d rather that not happen. Also, my advisor said I’d be good at signals intelligence. I asked her about MI5, and she said GCHQ would be a better fit. So I’d be safely ensconced behind a computer at Cheltenham, using my GIS ninja skills to thwart bad guys.”

“Would you enjoy that, though?”

“I’d be a professional eavesdropper,” Ben said. “What’s not to love?”

“The fact that GCHQ collect mass surveillance data on British citizens.”

“MI5 are the ones who use that data.”

“Believe me, I know,” Evan said. “I make that moral compromise every day. But you’re better than that. You told me once that work which serves others is a form of worship. How could you reconcile a job like that with your faith?”

“I don’t know.” Ben fought back tears of frustration. Why is this so hard? “I thought…since GCHQ are sort of near London, if MI5 transferred you to Thames House, we could live somewhere in between.”

“I canna live in London. After this last week I know that more than ever.” Evan looked about to shed his own tears. “Glasgow is far enough from this.”

“I understand.” Ben moved closer and leaned against him. “It’s beautiful here.”

“It’s more than beautiful.” Evan slipped an arm around his shoulders and kissed his hair. “This place…it’s where I feel most real.”

Ben’s heart felt like it would rip in two. “You can be real anywhere, because you are real.”

“It doesn’t always feel like it.” He tightened his embrace. “I love you, Ben. Please come stay with me here.”

Ben buried his face against Evan’s neck. “I’ll think about it. You know I love Orkney. And I love you.”

He was more tempted by Evan’s offer of escape than he was letting on. Orkney and its people were lovely. Above all, it was safe. Here they could forget the world and avoid the worst of its evils.

“Not to continue the sales pitch,” Evan said, “but mind on, there’s the Bahá’í Centre in Kirkwall, the only one in Scotland apart from Edinburgh.”

Ben’s burning eyes finally overflowed. He pulled away and put his face in his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Evan asked. “What did I say?”

Ben forced out the words, though he could barely speak. “This Bahá’í Centre won’t accept me while I’m with you. None of them will.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since always.”

“I don’t understand. I know your faith forbids us having sex, but so does every faith.” Evan touched Ben’s shoulder. “You said it was like Catholics using birth control. You said Bahá’í was an undemanding religion.”

“I said all that because I wanted to believe it. But it’s more than just not following the letter of the law. I could be basically excommunicated for having a boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Evan’s hand slid off his shoulder. The loss of his touch sent an ache rippling through Ben’s body. “But that couple you met here last month—the Milfords, aye?—they didn’t seem prejudiced.”

“It’s not about prejudice, it’s about going against the teachings of our faith. Other LGBT Bahá’ís have been asked to resign their membership when they entered a serious same-sex relationship. We’re accepted and embraced as long as we’re single.”

Evan let out a soft curse. “If I’d known that us being together could destroy something so important to you…”

“That’s the other reason why I never said anything. I didn’t want to scare you away.” Ben wiped his face with the end of his sleeve—a mistake, as it smelled like newborn lamb. “I truly believe that the leaders of my faith will come around in my lifetime. But I can’t control that, and I refuse to be without you while I wait for a change of heart that might never happen.”

“If it hurts you to make that choice—”

“Then it hurts. That’s life, right? Sometimes there’s loss no matter what we choose. Perfection’s not an option, and neither is giving up.” Ben folded his hands, pressing his palms hard together. “I want to be with you, Evan. Somehow.”

Behind them, a ewe gave what Ben had come to recognize as an “It’s time!” bleat.

“Sorry,” Evan said. “I should go see she’s okay.”

An unfamiliar alert pinged on Ben’s phone. Curious, he pulled it out and looked at the screen.

Oh my God.

Ben tapped the WhoWhatWhere notification. After a moment, a map came up. “Whoa.”

“What is it?” Evan asked.

Ben hesitated only a moment. “I know where David Wallace is.”

Evan stared down at Ben, whose excited expression bore barely a tinge of shame. “What? How do you—” He gritted his teeth, wanting to fling his empty coffee mug against the wall. “How could I forget to delete my search?” He’d practiced the utmost operational security at every step.

“There was a bug,” Ben said. “You probably told the software to delete the search and it somehow got saved, then belched it back up when I installed the new version. It happened to one of my searches too.”

“Then I never should have used it at all. I should never have trusted a beta version.”

“You mean you never should have trusted me.”

Exactly. Evan put his palms to his face and dragged his fingertips over the sides of his forehead, then his jaws, up and down. “I want to.”

“But I don’t deserve it. I’ve proved it again and again.” Ben’s voice was steady instead of pleading. “And this time I’m not even sorry, because if I’d just deleted your search, you’d never have got this new lead.” Ben cut off Evan’s protest. “And if I’d told you straight away what I was doing, you would’ve had to report it to your bosses or lie to them. Either way we’d both end up in serious trouble.”

“We could still be in serious trouble. Ben, you’ve no idea what you’ve done.”

“I’ve got some idea.” He held out his phone. “Don’t you want to see?”

Evan paused only a moment before snatching the device and looking at the screen. “Lerwick? Why is David Wallace in Shetland, of all places?” The BVP leader had never mentioned having friends or relatives there when Gunnar had told him how much he loved visiting Orkney (a drop of truth never hurt in undercover work). As the two groups of Northern Isles, Shetland and Orkney were linked in the minds of most Brits, so mentioning one would naturally bring up the other.

“I’m guessing it’s not exactly high tourist season up there?” Ben took his phone back and tapped the screen. “It was a Twitter post that gave me the notification. Let me see what he said.”

Evan realized that this meant Ned’s crew had finally switched Wallace’s phone settings. If so, there could be more geo-tagged posts to come.

“Wallace didn’t tweet about Lerwick,” Ben said. “It was just a standard white-supremacist hate tweet.”

The lambing ewe bleated again, more insistently.

“I need to see to her,” Evan said.

Ben didn’t look up from his phone screen. “Give a shout if you need help.”

The ewe in question was having triplets, judging by the purple paint mark on her side. Evan was glad this was the first birth of the night, while he still had strength in his arms. Like many triplets, these lambs were wedged together in the confines of their mother’s womb. Evan quickly sorted out which leg belonged to whom and got the peedie sheep into position for easier arrivals. Then it was more or less one-two-three happy birthday.

He took the last and largest of the triplets to the orphan pen to hand-feed. “We’ll find you a new mum,” he told it, “but for now you’ll have to settle for me.”

Settling into the straw with lamb and bottle, Evan finally had a moment to think about what Ben had just revealed. He felt betrayed—again—but at least Ben had been honest. And if Wallace’s trip to Lerwick was significant, perhaps it could be the break in the case Evan had been waiting for.

As for Ben’s revelation about his faith, Evan’s brain couldn’t even wrap around the personal and philosophical ramifications. He still desperately needed a week-long nap.

Soft footsteps approached the orphan pen. Ben leaned round the corner, showing only one eye and the top of his head. “How’s it going?” he whispered.

“Triplets. Number 202. Don’t let me forget.”

Ben tucked his phone into his coat pocket. “I’ll feed while you put the others in the postpartum pen.” He opened the gate. “Wallace is on the move.”

“He’s posted again already?” In Evan’s experience, David Wallace was sparing with his social-media activity. “What about?”

“Actually, he’s got himself into a Twitter spat—or a ‘Twat,’ as I call it.” Ben shifted around him and slid down to sit against the wall. “Every reply is marked with a geo-tag.”

That was strange for Wallace—like most controversial figures, he’d learned not to get dragged into online word-wars. “Who’s he fighting with?”

“Erm…me.”

“What?!”

“Not me-me. My alter ego, IllusiveMan. Been a while since I’ve trotted that one out.” Ben petted the sleeping lamb next to him. “Anyway, he’s headed southbound from Lerwick.”

The newborn lamb in Evan’s arms was all that kept him from yelling. “I can’t believe you involved yourself even deeper,” he hissed.

“Well, again…”

“You’re not sorry. But you should be. Ben, this has to stop. You’ve no idea what you’re dealing with.” As Evan bent over to hand over the lamb, he realized what Ben had just told him. “Southbound from Lerwick, you say?”

“Mm-hm.” Ben settled the lamb in his lap. “And too slowly for him to be flying.”

“He must be on the overnight ferry to Aberdeen.” Evan started to straighten up, then froze halfway. “What day of the week is it?”

“Wednesday.”

A thrill of anticipation—the thrill of the hunt—coursed through Evan, a feeling that no amount of farming could make him immune to. “That ferry stops in Orkney tonight.”