Winter couldn’t help letting out a faint whistle.

  It was Connor’s personal collection that he’d donated to the museum.

  There were jewels of all kinds in here, colorful diamonds and sapphires and rubies, rare jade so pale it looked translucent, blocks of raw quartz, then rows upon rows of jewelry, all protected in individual cases.

  “Look,” Sydney whispered. She zoomed in on one of the jewelry boxes sitting in a thick receptacle of glass. As she did, she tapped another button on the screen.

  The video recording shifted into what looked like an infrared mode. He saw the outline appear plainly behind the glass cases. He sucked his breath in sharply.

  “There’s a hidden room in there,” he said.

  Sydney nodded, although she was frowning. As Winter studied the box further, he noticed the silhouette of a face emerge against the jewelry box’s glass surface. He recoiled at the eerie sight.

  Connor stopped before the box. For a second, nothing happened. Then there was the faint sound of a click, followed by a door sliding silently open against the wall.

  The man stepped inside. And the snake ring’s footage cut off.

  Sydney cursed. “That room must have fortified walls,” she whispered. “The video feed can’t transmit from inside.”

  Minutes crawled by. Just when Winter thought they wouldn’t see any more footage, the feed flickered back to life. Connor was already back outside in the small corridor, walking past the four guards again.

  Winter’s mouth felt dry. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Hadn’t Sauda said Eli’s ledgers were kept somewhere in central London?

  “How do we get in there?” he murmured.

  Sydney’s brows were furrowed, her eyes stormy with thought. “The code to open that room seems to be made with pattern recognition of the blood vessels under the skin of Connor’s face,” she said.

  Winter frowned. “So, short of dragging his decapitated head in there, we’re not getting in? And before you suggest it, I’d really prefer if we didn’t decapitate him.”

  “No one needs to be decapitated. We just needed a good 3D hologram of his face.” She reached over to tap his earrings. “Which you got last night at the party.”

  The touch of her cool skin against his earlobe sent a shiver down his spine. He looked closely at the image again. “Can we tell what’s inside?”

  She shook her head. “Not until we get in ourselves. But all we need is one piece of evidence. Just one, and it’ll be enough to stop that shipment.”

  His heartbeat quickened. Just one, and it’ll be enough. But Eli Morrison was dead, and they didn’t even know who had done it, nor who was running his empire right now and dealing with the Corcasians in his absence. They were working with zero leads, and they were running out of time.

  “What do you need to get in?” he whispered to her instead.

  She smiled tightly. “The floor plans to the museum,” she answered. “And every blueprint we can get our hands on.”

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Claire had managed to be escorted into the house along with Leo, Dameon, and half a dozen other security crew. Even so, her braided bun looked slightly disheveled, and she was sweating slightly despite the cool air outside.

  “What’s the game plan?” Leo asked as they huddled in the living room, busying himself by setting down glasses of whiskey for them. Claire shot him a disapproving look about the alcohol, but didn’t turn the drink down. “I can’t remember the last time you caused this much of a ruckus.”

  “It was when he did the devil skit,” Dameon said, picking up one of the glasses. “We had protesters in Orlando—that one guy broke our windshield.”

  “I’ll tell you the game plan.” Claire narrowed her eyes at Winter as she sipped at her drink. “We should be rushing you out of London, except now we have a full circus outside and navigating the freeway to the airport will be more dangerous than just keeping you here.” She tapped at her phone in annoyance. “Does Eli Morrison ever pick up?”

  The mention of his name roiled the unease in Winter’s stomach. His mind still whirled from the footage that Sydney had shown him. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” He shook his head. “But that doesn’t mean the rest of you need to be here.”

  Leo stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

  Dameon scowled. “Wait, you’re going to stay here by yourself in this madness?”

  “What can you possibly help with?” Winter answered.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Keeping people from clawing your skin off? Walking with you?”

  “You’ll make it harder than it needs to be,” Winter argued, glancing at Claire. “Send them home.”

  “Agreed.” Claire looked at Leo and Dameon. “I’m flying the two of you out for now. The less I have to keep track of, the easier my job will be.”

  Leo started to protest, his eyes almost panicked. “You were nearly killed!” he said to Winter. “So what if the freeways are going to be wild? Isn’t anything safer than staying here?”

  Claire tapped on the table with her phone, disrupting their argument. “We’re moving your flight up,” she said, eyeing Leo and Dameon. “End of story.”

  “And you should be flying out, too,” Winter said to her. There was an uneasy churning in his gut as he said it, the premonition that things were about to get worse. “No reason for you to stay when you could be safely on board a plane.”

  That made her turn to him, startled. “Why would I leave?”

  His tone turned annoyed. “Does your safety not count for anything?”

  “There’s more you’re not telling me, Winter Young,” Claire pressed, lowering her voice. “You think I can’t sense that, after all our years together?”

  Damn Claire and her intuition, Winter thought. But he just shook his head. “I’m telling you there’s not,” he said. “Do I have to have a secret in order to be protective?”

  “No. But you have one, don’t you?”

  Winter scowled and looked at Dameon. “Help me.”

  Dameon shrugged. “You’re the boss,” he replied.

  Winter looked back at Claire. “I’m not asking you. I’m ordering you. Go home now, or you’re fired.”

  Claire flinched as if she’d been slapped. “Excuse me?”

  In all their years together, he had never said such a thing to her, threatened her as if she was his subordinate. The hurt in her eyes made him wince. But there were more dangerous players in the game now. He imagined the faceless sniper pointing his crosshairs in Claire’s direction. Pulling the trigger.

  Panacea had promised to protect his crew, but he couldn’t count on that now.

  “Please, Claire,” he whispered. “Just do this.”

  Her lips tightened, and she sat back, her posture now stiff and distant. “As you say, Mr. Young,” she said, her words barbed.

  Winter opened his mouth, trying to form an apology, but no words came out. All he could do was look on as Claire rose from the couch and turned away.

  “Claire,” he managed to say. “Wait.”

  She didn’t look back.

  Dameon fixed his steady eyes on Winter, searching for an answer. But Winter kept his hands in his pockets, tense as Claire called for their security team to prepare for them to leave.

  Then Dameon stepped toward him.

  “Winter,” he murmured in his ear. “Remember when you used to come to me?”

  Winter stilled at the reminder of their past.

  There will always be a part of me in love with you, Dameon had told him back then, right before the end of their affair.

  But not all of you, Winter had added.

  Not all of me, Dameon had admitted.

  Now Winter met Dameon’s eyes as the boy leaned close. “I know you’ve always kept your secrets close,” he whispered. “And I’m not going to start asking about them now. But just take care of yourself, okay? Come home safe.”

  “Okay,” Winter murmured back, swallowing.

  Dameon held his gaze a breath longer before looking away.

  Then Leo turned to Winter. There was naked fear in his friend’s eyes now, and a slight sheen of sweat glimmered on the boy’s skin. Winter felt a surge of guilt for putting them all in this position. So much for a thankless good deed. All he’d done was endanger the people he cared about.

  “Look, Winter…” Leo said, then trailed off, his brows furrowed.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Winter replied, trying to offer him a smile. He glanced at Dameon. “We’re all going to be okay.”

  “Okay,” Dameon said in his quiet voice. As Claire motioned for them to prepare to rush out the door, he nodded at Winter. “Watch yourself out here, yeah? We’ll see you back in the States.”

  “See you there,” Winter replied. They all exchanged a wordless nod.

  His eyes settled on Claire. She still looked distant, her gaze wary, her lips tight. They exchanged a terse nod, too.

  “Stay safe,” he told her.

  “Stay safe,” she murmured. Her eyes flickered to Sydney, who stood back by the drinks on the coffee table. “Keep him safe,” she called out.

  Sydney nodded once.

  Then Claire was opening the door, and the thunderous noise from the crowd outside hit them in a wave. Security guards shouted at Claire, and Claire shouted in turn at the boys.

  As they hurried out, Leo suddenly wrapped Winter in an embrace. In his ear, Leo whispered fiercely, “Don’t touch those drinks.”

  Winter blinked, confused. Leo released him, his eyes locked on him for a fraction of a second. Then he turned away and disappeared into the throng of police with Claire and Dameon, and the door shut.

  Winter stood there for a second, dazed. What? Had he just heard those words? Had he made it up?

  Don’t touch those drinks.

  As if on cue, he heard a slight clink behind him. He looked back. The drinks that Leo had poured out for them were still sitting on the low table. Sydney was there now, her eyes on her phone’s footage, her drink already touching her lips. Their eyes met.

  Panic surged through him. “Don’t—” he started to say.

  But it was too late.

  A strange, stricken look passed over her face. Immediately, she dropped the glass in her hand—it shattered against the floor. Right as the realization washed over Winter.

  Poison.

  23

  Breaking the Wall

  There was no taste of it on the rim of the glass—but all it took was a look at Winter, before he even spoke, for Sydney to know that something was wrong.

  Then she felt it. The heat. She hurriedly wiped her lips clean against her sleeve, but the poison was already trickling down her throat, leaving a trail of slow-burning fire in its wake.

  It took Sydney another second to realize that Winter had gripped her shoulders and was trying to say something to her—but she wasn’t really processing what. She was concentrating too hard on keeping her mind still. Her thoughts fluttered frantically, as if she were struggling to contain them. She could already feel the first hints of fire in her stomach, a pulse that rushed through her veins, turning her to ice. Damn, this one acted fast.

  She recognized this feeling. She’d taken toxins before during training, could still remember the pain in her gut as Sauda fed her an antidote and then had medics pump her stomach.

  How embarrassing, she thought idly as she felt Winter scoop her up in his arms. Her world spun.

  She had never been poisoned before, not for real. Not out in the field.

  It was a strange sensation and, somehow, not entirely unpleasant. There was no pain, although she found herself in the grip of an intense heat that consumed every part of her body, could feel the heat emanating from her and the bitter cold of everything else around her in comparison. No sweat, though.

  Maybe she had a fever.

  Her breathing came in shallow, whistling gasps. Her lungs heaved. She could hear her teeth chattering loudly. The kitchen blurred past her, noon light painting stripes so bright against the floor that they swam blindingly in her vision. The patterns in the marble counter swirled.

  “Get me in the pool,” she managed to utter through her gasps. She needed to cool down.

  Winter didn’t hesitate. Sydney leaned heavily against him and saw the shimmering surface of the pool growing nearer in her vision. The waterfall flowing down into it against the glass wall seemed to roar in her ears.

  Then there was a splash, and she could feel Winter frantically dragging her into the water and the blessed coolness of it soaking through her clothes.

  Winter propped her up, waist deep, against the shallow edge of the pool near the waterfall. “Focus on me,” she heard him say. When she struggled to obey, she could make out his face leaning down toward hers. “Focus on me. Focus on me.”

  His voice sounded so far away. Somehow that seemed funny to her when he was obviously so close, and Sydney fought an urge to laugh. Her mind swam with exhaustion. She could feel herself heaving, her lungs struggling for air. Water lapped against her.

  “Upstairs,” she finally managed to blurt out, the word tangling on her tongue.

  “I can’t leave you here.”

  “Upstairs,” she tried to repeat. “My bag.”

  This time he winced, glancing up at the winding staircase. “Make sure you keep pressed against the pool’s edge,” he told her. “I’ll be right back.”

  Then he was gone, his warm presence giving way for the cold lapping of water around her. Her skin felt so hot that she swore she must be heating up the pool on her own.

  For a moment, she thought he’d left the house entirely, that she was now all alone.

  The idea filled her with sudden terror. Her breaths quickened. Whistle. Whistle. Strands of her damp hair clung to the sides of her face. What had Sauda told her to do if she couldn’t reach her bag of antidotes? God, she felt so tired. It took every bit of her strength just to steady herself against the pool’s edge. She could still smell the lingering fumes of the poisoned drink on her clothes, and the scent made her head swim, made her wipe her lips over and over with the pool’s water to cleanse it further.

  She needed to take the shirt off.

  She gritted her teeth as she undid the first few buttons of her wet shirt, then stopped to concentrate on getting oxygen. Whistle. Whistle. Her lungs struggled. Where was Winter? Had he left?

  She was on her own.

  There was nothing new about that—she’d been locked in solitary confinement before on a mission, had to break out of countless places by herself. She’d sent him away, after all. Why did it matter to her that Winter wasn’t by her side?

  Sydney shivered so violently that she thought she might be having a seizure right here in the pool. Could you be aware of yourself when you were having a seizure? The question floated through her mind and faded.

  And suddenly, she saw the memory around her—the small apartment she’d been given near Panacea’s headquarters for the duration of her training, and Sauda and Niall standing in the living room, waiting with her as two inspectors searched her place.

  I’m going to ask you again, Ms. Cossette, Sauda said to her, the woman’s eyes cool and calm. Have you ever stolen from headquarters?

  Think carefully before you answer, Niall warned her.

  Sydney shook her head instinctively. She could feel the pressure in her lungs, the perpetual strain tightening even more with her anxiety. Never, she replied.

  Sauda narrowed her eyes. At the time, Sydney couldn’t tell that Sauda already knew she was lying, that the woman had noted the subtle signs her body gave off.

  The inspectors eventually found her stash—a floorboard under her bed that revealed a compartment filled with items she’d stolen from the building throughout the three months she’d been there so far. Salt and pepper shakers. Forks and knives. Training gloves and paperweights, lightbulbs and boxes of paper clips from the utility closet, pens embedded with blades used during her training sessions, copper wiring stripped from gadgets. The list went on and on. They laid it all out before her feet.

  Sydney couldn’t bear to look up into Niall’s face. It didn’t matter, anyway. She could tell from the angle of his posture that he had his arms crossed, that his brows were probably furrowed in disappointment.

  When Sauda spoke again, her voice was quiet. I think we both know what this means, Sydney, she said.

  Expulsion, of course. They couldn’t have a spy stealing from headquarters. Sydney nodded without a word.

  And she had taken it well enough the next day, sitting stone-faced before the two agents as they questioned her extensively about each of the items she’d stolen. After all, she’d expected this. Of course she was unfit for such a classified job, one where people’s lives would be placed in her hands. Of course she’d fail out of recruitment training and be sent back to her small, awful life in her hometown.

  At last, Sauda turned to Niall. Verdict? she asked him.

  Sydney braced herself, her eyes still downturned. Whatever it was that Niall answered Sauda with, it must have been a look, because Sydney didn’t hear anything.

  Sauda cleared her throat. Sydney looked up to see the woman studying her with narrowed eyes, and Sydney tensed, bracing herself for the worst.

  Well, Sydney? Sauda asked her. Do you have anything to say?

  Sydney swallowed hard. Her eyes went momentarily to Niall. The man crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her. Somehow, the disappointment on his face hurt her more than anything her own father had ever said to her. All she could think about was the way the man had confronted her in the hallway of her old school, how he’d offered her the chance at a new life. How she had thrown it away so carelessly.

  I’m sorry, she whispered. I don’t deserve to stay.

  Sauda tilted her head. Deserve is an interesting word, she said. It implies worth. And worth is something earned by doing, not by being.

  Sydney looked at her. Do you mean …

  Your compulsion to steal is a symptom of trauma, Sauda went on. You will study it extensively in your psychology training. She nodded. You’re the smartest recruit we’ve had in years. I know you can learn to control the impulse.