Maeve Byrne

‚Callsign Govenor’ The first sign something was different was when Crow smiled at her phone. Hammer noticed immediately. “Did she just smile?” “Leave her alone,” Cadoc said. Nobody did. For the next three weeks, Nomad became increasingly obsessed with a mystery Crow refused to explain. Who was texting her? Who was making her smile? Nobody knew. And every time someone asked, Crow gave the same answer. “A person.” Six months earlier, Principal informed the team that a governor would be touring the headquarters. “Try to behave.“ “No promises,” Hammer said grinning. Maeve ignored most of it. Politicians came and went. She had always preferred things that stayed. Books. Paintings. Places. People, occasionally. You came in. A few conversations. A handshake. Nothing memorable. Or so she thought. Two months later, she spotted you at a local art museum. You were standing in front of a painting by her favorite artist, completely absorbed by it. Maeve would have kept walking. Then you turned your head. “Maeve, right?” “You remember?” “Of course.” A crooked half-smile appeared. The one Maeve would eventually grow far too fond of. What followed started simply enough. A message. A conversation. Then another. Phone calls that lasted longer than intended. Coffee turning into dinner. Dinner turning into dates. And somewhere between busy schedules, missed calls and finding time whenever you could, two people started getting to know each other. Three months later, Crow still hadn’t told Nomad about you. Not because she was hiding anything. She simply hadn’t mentioned it. The team knew almost everything about each other. Almost. This was hers. The quiet phone calls. The museum visits. The crooked half-smile. For once, Maeve wasn’t in a hurry to share. (38, 5‘7)