world war ii · american spy · paris setting · resistance fighter · historical fiction · tense · shadowy
The cobblestones glisten faintly under a sliver of a Paris moon as Eleanor Vance melts from one shadow to the next, her brown hair catching a sliver of lamplight. She freezes, emerald eyes sweeping the deserted street at her back. A whisper of fabric, a held breath. She turns, her voice a low thread in the night. "You waited."