How can I pursue anything normal when I don't know what happened to her? When my best friend has disappeared, seemingly dragged out of her hotel room in the middle of the night, with absolutely no indication of what might have happened to her?

  The only clue was one uncovered from the recordings downloaded off of the CCTV cameras lining her hallway. The footage showed two men, their faces covered with ski masks walking up to her room only a few minutes after Jayson and I left her there. One of them was pulling something that looked like a large storage case, the other pounded loudly against her door, not giving up until she finally opened. Malia was drunk that night, the drunkest I've ever seen her, but she was still coherent enough that I felt comfortable leaving her to sleep it off.

  I had considered either staying with her or taking her up to our room. I decided against it after her incessant insistence that she was fine and I shouldn't worry. The decision wasn't an easy one to make, but it's safe to say that I went for the easy option. I decided selfishly. It was my wedding night.

  I left her on her own, a decision I've regretted ever since.

  What if I had stayed with her? What if Jayson and I had taken her with us, letting her sober up in the safety of our gigantic suite? What if... what if...

  She'd still be here.

  "But how could you know what was going to happen?" Jayson keeps reminding me. "Why would anyone take her? What could anyone possibly want from her?"

  I glared angrily at him for that last remark, because it made my best friend sound so insignificant. But I know that he has a point.

  From the footage, it seems as if those men were targeting Malia. They knew which room they wanted, and they didn't waste a second when she opened the door. They forced themselves inside her room, slamming the door behind them, and when they stepped back into the hallway a few minutes later, they were pulling a visibly heavier case behind them. Malia is a petite person, but I still couldn't believe that they had stuffed her inside it when I first saw the images.

  "Did they kill her?"

  My question was underlined with such horror that I barely managed to speak the words, and I want to believe what both Jayson and the police told me. It was unlikely that without a motive someone would walk into a stranger's room, kill her, and then haul off the dead body. For what? It doesn't make any sense.

  But even if they didn't kill her right away, it doesn't mean that she’s still alive.

  Malia could be dead—and it would be all my fault.

  My eyes wander absently across the horizon, teased by the reflections of the sun that dance across the ocean before me. This view gave me so much joy just a few days ago, standing here with my newlywed husband, slightly hung over and tired, but so elated with happiness. A warm breeze was kissing the salty skin on my cheeks, carrying the taste of the ocean all the way up here while I admired the ring on my finger, a smile on my face.

  She's just hung over, I thought when Malia didn't pick up the phone when I called her the following morning.

  She's still sleeping it off, I thought when she wouldn't pick up my call around noon.

  This is weird, I thought when I still couldn't reach her mid-afternoon.

  Something is wrong, I thought when I still hadn't heard from her a few hours later.

  That's when we went to the front desk and convinced them to let us into her room. That's when we found her room empty and in disarray, no sign of her anywhere. Jayson asked for the camera footage right away, but even with his identification, we had to wait for the local police to show up before the hotel released the recordings. Our first thought was that Malia had just wandered off, intoxicated and confused, but my heart froze when we saw two men invading her room instead.

  Who are they? Where did they take her? And why?

  So far, we have no leads. The police didn't even know where to start, and it's of little consolation to know that she's not another victim of the Bridgewater murderer, because that man is behind bars now—thanks to Jayson.

  But what if it was a mistake and he wasn't the culprit after all? What if those guys who barged into Malia’s room were the actual culprits? Or what if he didn't work alone? What if these two goons are his sidekicks and have come to kidnap my best friend as a form of revenge against Jayson?

  I'm terrified by the prospect, especially because it makes so much sense to me.

  Because how could I deserve any better? After what I put her through? After what I've done to Malia and everyone else who is close to me? I never trusted that I would have my own happily ever after, but I’m even more devastated about the fact that she’s the one who has to pay the price for all of this. Malia is the most kind-hearted, loyal, and devoted friend anyone could ever ask for—and now she has to live through this horror, while I'm the one who is blessed with riches, married to the man of my dreams.

  I hear the sound of the lock to our door turning behind my back and I jump up immediately, almost propelling the untouched food to the floor as I bump into the table on my way to the door.

  Jayson has been with the police all morning, taking advantage of his connections to be involved in the investigation as much as they will allow. I didn't expect him to be back this early, and the fact that he walks through the door right now could be either very good or very bad news.

  "Anything?" I ask, scurrying toward him, clinging to close the bathrobe that's wrapped around my body.

  He sighs tiredly, looking just as rough as I feel. There are dark shadows beneath his eyes and concern is knitted across every inch of his face.

  He doesn't smile at me, but he doesn't look like he's about to deliver bad news, either.

  "We may have something," he says. "But I'm not sure whether it's good news or bad news."

  I step closer to him then, torn between relief and distress as I await his news.

  Chapter 26

  Nate

  There's one thing you often hear people say when they see a loved one on their deathbed or severely beaten down by a horrible disease. That one visual impact we all seem to notice. And when we step inside the room where Lailah is being taken care of, I am overcome by this very same thought.

  She looks so small.

  I feel stupid when the thought first creeps up on me. Because Lailah is small. She always has been, even before the cancer attacked her.

  But she was never weak.

  The girl resting on the bed before us right now, buried under a set of thick sheets, hooked to an IV bag and with tubes running into her nose, doesn't look like the Lailah I know. And it hasn't even been that long since I last saw her, a few weeks maybe. She was still in the hospital then, still clinging on to the hope that she might recover from this diagnosis, be one of the lucky ones, a survivor, ready to complete a mission that most of us had long given up on.

  She never gave up. Her cheeks were already sunken in and the shadows under her eyes as dark as they are now, but the last thing she said to me was, "I'm going to do this. I will. Because I can."

  I wanted to believe it then, but I know I was fooling myself. I'm not sure if she believed it or not, though. It wouldn't surprise me if she actually thought that she could make it through this and come out on the other side a healthy woman, strong enough to be our Onyx.

  I never even considered her feelings when I came up with the idea of replacing her with an unsuspecting stranger.

  I never thought about any of this. I never thought about how it would be for the two of them to meet, if they ever did. I never thought about the conversation they could possibly have, about the feelings this may bring forth, the trouble it could cause.

  I never thought about it—which means, I'm not prepared for it. This is very unlike me. I'm always prepared, for every contingency, every possible outcome, anything and everything that could go wrong in a situation. I've always been in control. But lately, that control has slipped out of my hands, forcing me to constantly come up with solutions on the spot for problems that I didn't anticipate just a moment before.

  I asked Mike and Daveed to leave us alone for a few moments. They remain outside in the hall when I close the door behind Malia and me. She freezes in place right next to the door, unwilling to step closer when I approach the bed slowly, deliberately.

  Lailah is awake, but only barely, her eyelids heavy as she looks at me through half-closed eyes. She smiles when she sees me, a consolation that I didn't know I wanted. Needed. Our relationship hasn't been easy the past few years, spoiled by unrequited feelings and the consequences of mistakes that neither of us can take back. It wasn't easy to push these things aside when I was chosen to train Lailah for her mission, but I managed. We both managed, allowing us to focus on the task at hand.

  All that changed when she was diagnosed with cancer. Suddenly, there was a different war to be fought, and as much as she tried to deny it, it’s a fight she can no longer win.

  "Nate," she says, her voice sounding louder and more stable than I expected. "What are you doing here? I thought you were on... vacation."

  The look she throws at me suggests that she never believed that excuse. She knew I was up to something and possibly ready to leave the Covey for good. Lailah knows more about me than they do. More than any of them—Mike, Daveed, even Big George—none of them know more than she does in regards to my future with the Covey.

  And as much as I trust her, it was always my fear that she could just as easily be my demise by spilling my secrets. But she never did. At least so far.

  I come to a halt next to her bed, reciprocating the smile she casts at me.

  "I'm dying," she says in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'm sorry. I tried, I really did-"

  "Stop," I cut her off. "You have nothing to be sorry about. You didn't fail anyone."

  "Yes, I did," she insists, scrunching her eyebrows. "I failed you, the Covey, the mission..."

  Her eyes trail off, aimlessly wandering around the room until they find Malia, still standing close to the door and so quiet that I almost forgot she was there. Lailah's eyes widen, flitting up and down as she studies Malia from head to toe.

  "Holy shit," she gasps. "Did you... clone me?"

  Her question makes me laugh, and even Malia lets out a little chuckle behind my back.

  "I was thinking the same thing," she says, as she joins me next to Lailah's bed.

  The girls’ eyes are locked on each other, taking in one another with palpable fascination. Despite Lailah's weak constitution and her dramatic weight loss, the similarity between the two is still stunning, to say the least. Even the way their black hair curls appears to be identical, if only at first sight. Malia's hair is thicker and her curls are more pronounced than Lailah's ever were, but that is a minute difference only someone like me would notice. Someone who knows both of them well.

  Someone who has slept in the same bed as both of them.

  "You are the solution," Lailah whispers, her eyes still fixated on Malia. "Right? You are going to take my place?"

  She looks at me now, her eyebrows arched quizzically.

  I nod. "Yes, that's what we're hoping for."

  Lailah's lips move as if she's tasting her response before she gives voice to it, her face strained as she processes news that might be a relief and an insult at the same time.

  "You're so brave," she says eventually, now turning back to Malia. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

  Visibly confused, Malia looks up at me as if she was seeking reassurance to speak freely. I try to warn her not to do that, my eyes narrowed and a deadly serious expression on my face when I give a subtle shake of my head.

  She decides to disobey.

  "I wasn't given a choice," she says, still looking at me, before turning back to Lailah. "They kidnapped me when they saw me at a casino in Atlantic City."

  Lailah's eyes widen in disbelief.

  "Is that true?" she exclaims, throwing me a reproachful look. "You kidnapped her? You're forcing her to do this?"

  "It's the only option we have left."

  Lailah scoffs, rolling her eyes at me. Even in this state, at the brink of death, this girl still finds it within herself to let me know how little she thinks of the way I decide to handle things.

  From the corner of my eye, I can see Malia smiling, looking as if she thinks she has found a confidante in Lailah as she witnesses her outrage about the kidnapping.

  That smile is washed off of her face a moment later.

  "How on Earth do you think this could ever work? How can we trust her?" Lailah proceeds, revealing that she obviously doesn't care about Malia's ordeal itself, but about her use to the Covey.

  I expected no less from her.

  Malia, on the other hand, is visibly unsettled, realizing that while Lailah may bear a stunning resemblance to her in physical appearance, she does not uphold the same moral standards. She's a Covey girl through and through.

  "Are you... serious right now?" Malia stutters, her lower lip quivering. "I tell you that these guys have kidnapped me, that they just took me away from my life and the people I love, to force me on this 'mission' to be someone else's bride and... kill people. And you worry about whether I can be trusted?"

  Her voice is shaky, an early harbinger of the tears she's fighting back. It's endearing to watch her fight. Malia is so different, so innocent and pure in a way that Lailah was never allowed to be. And while it softens her, it seems she doesn't want that unspoiled trait to weaken her.

  Lailah, of course, remains unbothered and annoyed at Malia's indignation, at best. She throws me a look that says it all, an eyebrow arched and her head slightly tilted to the side, silently asking me what the hell I was thinking.

  "I'm confident she can do it," I say, placing my hand on Malia's shoulder as our eyes meet. "Right?"

  Her expression is grim when she looks at me, a severe determination that could mean a lot of things.

  I notice Lailah's eyes on us, studying us as my hand remains on Malia's shoulder a little too long, and our eyes latch on to each other a little too intensely. I can see the memory of last night written across Malia's face every time my gaze meets hers.

  And right now, it feels as if Lailah can see it, too.

  Epilogue

  Malia

  "Let me speak to her alone."

  Lailah's request freezes the blood in my veins. My back stiffens and my shoulders tense. I don't know why I fear her. She's lying in a bed, tubes attached to her body, looking more dead than alive, and so frail that she looks as if someone has literally sucked the life out of her. There's nothing she could do to me.

  Except speaking.

  The savage tone of her voice is bone-chilling, and the thought of being left alone with her frightens me, especially because she didn't ask me to stay—she commanded.

  Nate doesn't appear to like the idea any more than I do. He narrows his eyes, a quizzical look darting back and forth between her and me.

  "What for?" he demands. "I was hoping we could speak in private for a moment."

  "And we will," Lailah says calmly. "After I've spoken to her—alone."

  Her expression is fierce and unyielding, and if I wasn't scared of her as much as I am, I'd probably admire her for standing up to Nate like this. I don't think I could ever do it.

  The most amazing thing about it is that she actually succeeds. He casts me one last look, apathetic and unreadable as usual, before turning around and walking out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  I feel like someone is sitting on my chest once I'm left alone with Lailah. My breathing is choked and erratic as I return her pointed look.

  "I apologize," she begins in a surprising twist. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sure it's the last thing you need right now."

  I hesitate, unsure what to respond.

  "Big George told me about you," she goes on. "Daveed doesn't always comply with Nate's decisions as much as he should; he never has. He told George all about you right after the guys took you from that casino. Nate tried to keep it a secret for as long as he could, but George hates to be kept out of the loop. We needed to see you as soon as possible, to make sure Nate was doing the right thing."

  Grimacing in pain, she pauses for a moment, catching her breath. It's apparent that speaking takes a lot of energy from her, draining from a diminishing pool of strength that is limited at best right now.

  "And?" I ask, unable to hide the cynical mood that her last words put me in. "Is he doing the right thing?"

  She catches my tone, choosing to respond to it with a benevolent smile.

  "To be honest, I don't know. You and I, we don't have the same definition of right and wrong."

  "That we can agree on."

  "But I can say this," Lailah goes on. "I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you're fighting on the right side of this war. We're not the good guys, but we're not the bad guys, either. The Scivolas, however? They deserve what's coming to them."

  I bite my lower lip, suddenly overcome with an insecurity that feels misplaced. "I don't know if I can do it."

  "No one does, but can you promise me that you'll try?"

  The look on Lailah's face changes. The cold-hearted fierceness I saw in her expression before has disappeared and been replaced by a soft appeal instead.

  "I've been preparing for this mission for so long," she adds in a sad tone. "And I wouldn't have done it, if I didn't believe in the mission."

  I scrunch my eyebrows in doubt. "But why? Nate won't even tell me all the details about this mission, but what little I know, it doesn't seem to me like it's based on good versus evil."

  Lailah lets out a little sneer, shaking her head at my words.

  "He's trying to protect you. That's just the kind of man he is. Very protective of his subjects."

  "Subjects?"

  "Well, that's what you are to him," she says. "But it seems that you might be more than that."

  I blush, taking a step away from the bed, as if she just lashed out against me. "What did you say?"

  "I see the way he looks at you," Lailah continues. "He used to look at me like that, back then, when he was still… training me. I didn't let us go down that road, though. I was smarter than that. And you should be, too."