“Relax,” Shamir says quietly over her tankard of ale. “You’ll make it obvious.”

Her shoulder is against yours, far too close, but she wants to maintain her cover of being lovers. She needs you to focus. The target is three tables away, already getting drunk. It should be an easy mission.

Shamir leans closer to you. “We tail him once he leaves,” she says, keeping her voice low. She purposely brushes her fingers over yours, like you’re a couple madly in love.