By the time Albert had finished his second scotch, the wind outside had softened to a distant sigh through the pines. Poppy had taken up residence on the coffee table, legs swinging over the edge like a child on a park bench. She was humming something faintly—high, sweet, and irritatingly cheerful.

Albert ignored it, focusing instead on the fire and the comforting weight of his glass. He was half considering turning in when his phone, stubbornly on airplane mode, caught his eye. A flicker of curiosity won over his desire for peace, and he flicked the switch.

The signal snapped to life—and with it, a flurry of notifications. One in particular made him frown.

He reached for the remote and switched on the television. The news anchor’s voice was crisp, professional, but edged with urgency:

“Breaking news tonight: a cyberattack has crippled several major hospitals across the UK, disrupting patient care and forcing emergency evacuations. Early reports suggest a sophisticated ransomware operation, though officials are withholding details pending investigation. The Prime Minister is expected to address the nation within the hour.”

Albert sat back, the ice in his glass clinking. The chalet felt smaller suddenly, the air heavier. He didn’t work for the government anymore—not officially—but there were certain situations where the phone calls came anyway. And this… this was one of them.

“Well,” Poppy said brightly, as if commenting on the weather, “that doesn’t sound good.”

Albert shot her a sidelong glance. “You have absolutely no business knowing what that is.”

“I have eyes, darling,” she replied, tapping her temple. “And ears. And I know when you’re about to bolt.”

He stood, already pulling his jacket from the hook. “I’m flying back to London.”

“Lovely. Always wanted to see it.”

“You’re not—” He stopped himself. Right. Not real. Or at least, not permanent. “Fine. Float about. Do what you like. Just don’t touch anything.”

She gave him a mock salute. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”