But you need to be honest with us, Sydney, Niall said. You have to try. We can’t help you if we don’t know. Understand?

  Sydney searched the man’s face and found kindness under his stern gaze. It was such an unfamiliar expression to her that she didn’t know how to answer. Didn’t understand why he wanted to give her another chance.

  So she asked him. Why do you care if I stay?

  There appeared in the man’s eyes a sadness so deep that it seemed to hollow right through him. He grunted and looked down. Just don’t like wasting potential, he replied with a shrug.

  She could feel the tightness in her lungs, the truth of her condition that would one day catch up to her. She could tell them now; she could be honest about everything.

  But the sight of her stolen objects lined up on the table killed the words on her tongue.

  So she said, quietly, I understand.

  Niall and Sauda exchanged a look.

  Then Niall studied her face with those kind eyes. You can stay, he said.

  It was the gentle rumble of his voice that did it. Sydney put her face in her hands, felt the dam of her emotions crack, and sobbed like her heart might shatter.

  Niall left the room first. After he did, and after she had calmed down, Sauda said to her in a soft voice, “He has a daughter. They don’t talk anymore. That’s all you need to know, and I recommend you not ask questions about it.”

  The memory vanished, and Sydney returned to herself, shivering desperately. Her lungs wheezed, a reminder of the secret she still kept from them, that she was still too scared to reveal. Someday, one way or another, it would catch up to her.

  Or perhaps she wouldn’t ever have to worry about it. Not if she died today.

  She knew she needed to stay in the cool water. But it was so, so, so, so hot. She wanted to be bathed in ice.

  No one was coming back for her. A familiar fear settled into her stomach. She would die here, by herself.

  No one would care that she was gone.

  And then, just as she thought this was how she would end, that she would be found drowned in the water—

  Winter came rushing back, vaulting into the pool with a loud splash.

  She couldn’t tell if she was dreaming or not. She thought she might be crying in relief. Or maybe it was just the water. She couldn’t tell. She saw him holding a hand out to her and then wrapping his arm around her back, gently urging her to lean forward, to drink something. He looked soaked.

  She looked on weakly as he popped the vial’s lid, flipped it upside down on a syringe, and loaded it all with one hand, as if he’d been doing it all his life. Another surprise, in what seemed to be an endless string of surprises. So he’d been paying attention during their training after all, even when she’d only demonstrated this to him once, had probably practiced on his own.

  He pointed the syringe at her lips. “Drink,” he ordered her.

  His voice was low and steady. If he was scared, she couldn’t tell. She felt his cool fingers gently cradling the back of her neck as she tilted her head enough to take the syringe contents.

  She could barely swallow. The pain of it seared down her throat like fire. She winced, coughing and gagging. The antidote stung as it coated her lips.

  “You have to finish all of it,” he said.

  She managed to glare at him, but still forced herself to do as he said.

  Almost immediately, she felt the fever inside her break. And then the world around her no longer felt like a tundra, but like a baking desert, as if all the heat suffocating her body had rushed out into the world. She couldn’t bear it simmering around her. Her entire body burst into sweat. She couldn’t stop. She could feel it pouring down the sides of her face and drenching the collar of her open shirt, dripping down the damp strands of her hair, leaking into the water.

  She could feel herself finally able to take a full, gasping breath of air.

  “It’s okay,” Winter said repeatedly. “Can you hear me?”

  She nodded numbly. His hair was wet and studded with dew, glistening from the bright light coming in. Beads of water ran down his face. Vaguely, she became aware that his hands were on either side of her face, holding her in a firm, gentle embrace. He was staring at her as if she might disappear at any second.

  Maybe she was hallucinating. The water seemed unusually bright, its surface glittering under beams of sunlight. She could feel herself falling asleep, and the realization filled her with dread. She tried to focus on Winter’s gaze, as if looking at him could keep her awake.

  If she fell asleep, she might not wake up.

  “You were right,” she finally managed to say. The words slurred from her mouth.

  He blinked, as if surprised and relieved by her words. “About the poison?” he asked, the urgency plain in his voice.

  “About my lungs,” she whispered. They gave a painful spasm as she said it. “You were right—about my lungs—I haven’t told them yet.”

  An understanding rippled across his gaze. He shook his head. “And I won’t, either,” he replied. “Just stay awake. Okay? Just stay awake.”

  “Don’t go,” she tried to say. Her hands gripped feverishly at his sleeves.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he replied.

  She counted out the seconds. Gradually, gradually, she could feel the world around her gaining some sense of focus, although her head still felt light and fuzzy.

  “Winter,” she now breathed out his name.

  He nodded at her, his eyes still on her, his hands still on the sides of her face. Now she was starting to gain some feeling in her arms again, some strength in her muscles. She could feel the slight warmth of his skin against hers. She could sense the calluses on his palms and the slight stirring of his breath against her face.

  One of his hands came up to wipe something wet from her cheeks. She realized she was crying.

  “You’re okay,” he murmured to her in his lovely, melodic voice, and it was the most soothing sound in the world. “You’re okay.”

  “I’m okay,” she whispered. Her words sounded more like hers now. “I’m okay.”

  Now it was Winter’s turn to break down. To her surprise, he pulled his hands abruptly away from her and covered his own face with his palms. Then he started weeping. He wept like his heart might give out. She watched in calm fascination at the tears that dripped down his hands and spilled to his chin. Winter Young was famous for being composed in public, for never giving a bad interview or getting caught with his guard down. She didn’t think she could imagine him crying like this.

  He looked so … human. He looked like just a boy, overwhelmed and exhausted.

  She reached through the haze in her mind for the memory of Winter’s story about his mother, about the day he’d lost his brother, and felt that curious twist of pity in her stomach again. Or maybe it wasn’t pity. Maybe whatever she felt for him was the reason why she always seemed to be searching for an excuse to look at him or follow him or check up on him.

  Maybe she liked him more than she cared to admit.

  Maybe she was falling for him a bit.

  He wiped his eyes hurriedly, then held her face again. She realized for the first time that his hands were trembling. “Just rest,” he said, his voice hoarse. “We’ll contact Sauda, get a check on what exactly got used on you.”

  Sydney’s tears changed to quiet laughter. She couldn’t believe the ridiculousness of this moment. She was the secret agent, was supposed to be the one reassuring him—and yet she was propped up in an indoor pool and letting a pop star cradle her head.

  He smiled a little at her laughter. She found herself admiring the faint creases forming at the edges of his eyes, noting the spark of relief in his expression. The afternoon light washed over them, outlining him in bright gold.

  This was all too ridiculous. Every single one of her inhibitions felt like it’d vanished into thin air. Could poison do that, too? All she wanted to do was stare at this beautiful boy. She felt the tug of him hard in her chest, felt the wall crumbling between them.

  “The lyrics in your notebook,” she heard herself murmur, without warning.

  It took her a second to realize that she hadn’t thought the words, but spoken them out loud. Maybe there was still some poisoned drink left in the living room—she could take it and just let herself sink under the water and die of embarrassment.

  Winter’s eyebrow lifted, but he didn’t ask why she’d looked through it. “Which ones?” he said instead.

  The words returned through the haze of her mind. “‘You are my meditation,’” she replied. “Who is it about?”

  He was quiet for a moment, and she bit her lip to keep more words from shooting out of her mouth. God, what the hell was wrong with her?

  “You,” he answered.

  Sydney stared at him. The world still felt like it was tilting around her. His eyes turned down at her gaze, as if he hadn’t meant to admit it.

  “I was just playing around,” he muttered.

  You. You.

  She let the word wrap around her, felt the walls of her heart break down.

  She didn’t know why she did it.

  But she leaned toward him, and, as if it were always meant to be this way between them, she pressed her lips to his and kissed him.

  24

  Meant to Be

  It felt like a jolt of electricity shooting through her body.

  Winter stiffened in shock at her kiss.

  Then he gave way. She felt his hands pull her face to his, her body drifting through the water to press against his. Their kiss deepened. His lips were so soft. The rush of heat through her felt different this time, alive and warm and good and absolutely, wholly overpowering. She wrapped her wet arms around his neck as he pulled her to him. There was desperation in their movement, some urgency born from adrenaline and fear. And maybe something more, too. A faint groan emerged from his throat, a sound of relief and pleasure and deep want. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard.

  She’d kissed enough boys before for the novelty to have long worn off. But here, somehow, she felt like a novice. She could feel her hands reaching for his soaked shirt, tugging its hem out, then her fingers running under the fabric sticking to his wet stomach. His skin was smooth and slick. As if from a distance, she sensed herself straddling him, her thighs pressed against his torso, knocking him slightly off balance so that he had to prop an arm up behind him to keep from falling backward in the pool.

  Well, this is unprofessional. The voice in her head flared to life, but it was drowned out by her desire in this moment. She couldn’t care less whether or not they were on a mission or that their lives were in danger. She had been so focused for so long on nothing but survival, on getting the job done, that she’d forgotten entirely about her heart. So she let it free.

  All she wanted right now was him. Every bit of him. She wanted to be consumed by his fire and lost to it.

  Her mind swam in the fog of the antidote. She broke free long enough to gasp as she felt his hand against the skin of her back, sliding up. His lips were on her neck now, trailing along her collarbone. The buttons of her shirt were still undone from her feverish attempt earlier to take it off. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to touch her anywhere, everywhere. Waiting for him to carry her out of this pool and upstairs to the bedroom and strip the wet clothes off of her, for him to consume her.

  Him, this boy who—only a couple of weeks ago—she’d wished would fall off the face of the planet.

  Or maybe she’d never really believed that at all.

  What is Winter Young like in bed?

  The thought sprang to her mind and filled her with fire. She couldn’t believe herself. A week ago, she would have shaken her head in disgust at the thought.

  Why did she want him?

  Why did this feel so right?

  Before she could find out, he pulled away. Sydney gasped at his sudden departure and the disappointment of cool air between them.

  “Wait,” he breathed, his cheeks flushed. The collar of his shirt was disheveled from where she’d tugged at it, the buttons undone halfway down his chest, and she could see his body exposed underneath. He met her gaze, his pupils dilated, his eyes hazy with want. “Wait,” he repeated, shaking his head. “Stop. You’re—we’re, I mean—not in our right mind.”

  Not in my right mind?

  The buzz of heat and desire that had been raging through her cut short as if snipped in two. Vanished in an instant. She stared at him, bewildered for a moment.

  “I know what I’m doing,” she retorted.

  “Do you?” He looked skeptically at her. “You were just poisoned! Do you even remember what happened?”

  “Of course!” she snapped, then frowned. Already the memories of what’d just happened were turning fuzzy. How had they gotten here into the pool? Had Winter carried her? Had he given her something? She’d thought she remembered it, but now it felt like a blanket had fallen back over her mind, clouding it in doubt.

  At the sight of her confusion, Winter shook his head and pulled himself further away. He gave her a rueful smile. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Got carried away.”

  Sydney knew he was right, but she still felt irritation pouring cold against her emotions. The one time she threw herself at a guy and let her heart go, he decided to be chivalrous?

  Why couldn’t he just let her make this mistake?

  A mistake. Right.

  Her feelings had been thrown into a storm with the poison and antidote and sheer pressure of their mission, and she had lost her senses with it. A mistake. That was all this was.

  Something else cleared a little in her head, and Sydney felt the first hint of her cold logic returning, her shield piecing itself back together. She blinked, suddenly exhausted.

  Of course this was a mistake.

  “Same,” she muttered, pulling herself straighter against the edge of the pool. She looked down and buttoned her shirt. The heat from their kiss still coursed through her, and to her embarrassment, she could still feel it burning against her cheeks.

  His hand was still there, a hairsbreadth from hers. Everything in him looked like he wanted to touch her again, but he didn’t.

  “We can’t do this,” he finally whispered.

  Never had Sydney felt so annoyed with him. But she pushed the feeling down, forcing herself to look like she didn’t care that Winter’s hands had been on her just seconds ago, that she had been fumbling all over him herself.

  “Believe me, I don’t want to,” she heard herself agree. “Unprofessional.”

  Winter shook his head. “No, I meant the rest of this mission.”

  She frowned. The heat rose again, unbidden, in her cheeks, and for a moment, she wanted the poison coursing back through her system so she didn’t have the mind to be embarrassed. “And why not?” she said.

  “You were just poisoned!”

  She gave him an unbothered look. “I once stole the key to a locked cell to break out an informant scheduled for execution at a maximum-security prison while I had a hundred-and-four-degree fever.”

  He stared wordlessly at her.

  “So this will be easy,” she clarified.

  He blinked, but she didn’t feel like explaining further. Instead, she looked back out toward the living room, where shards of glass littered the floor, then at Winter again. Through the lifting fog in her mind, she recalled the panicked look she’d seen on his face right before she’d touched her lips to her glass. The memory of him starting to say something to her. Don’t—!

  “Winter,” she said carefully, “you were going to warn me before I sipped from that drink, weren’t you?”

  Winter stared at her, stricken. Then nodded.

  “Why?” she asked. “How did you know?”

  He didn’t answer. His face turned toward the door. Sydney found her mind revving back up as she studied his body language, the stiffness of his posture, the way he leaned unconsciously in the direction where Claire and his friends had left. She waited patiently for him to look back at her.

  When he finally did, his expression seemed haunted. “Leo whispered something to me right before he stepped out.”

  “And what did he say?”

  Winter met her eyes. “Don’t touch the drinks.”

  She was silent for a long moment. Her mind spun. Nothing about Leo had ever turned up in Panacea’s research about him—he had never been anything but a loyal friend and colleague to Winter. He had no ties to Eli Morrison.

  But this was unmistakable.

  “I watched the others drink without any issues,” she replied slowly, turning back to him. “Leo prepared all those glasses. He had to have known which to set in front of me. In front of you.”

  Winter’s eyes had constricted now. “No.”

  “He did,” she replied gently. She fixed him with a steady gaze. “Winter, Leo tried to poison us.”

  25

  Friends and Enemies

  It made no sense.

  Leo had been with him since nearly the beginning of Winter’s career. He had been on every tour, had teased and taunted him mercilessly, had attempted to teach him how to cook a dozen times. He had listened quietly whenever Winter was worn down from stress or exhaustion, had comforted him through a dozen heartbreaks, cheered him alongside Dameon as life pushed them higher.

  Leo had been there for him for so long. It was impossible.

  And yet he found himself staring down at the broken glass on the floor, the whiskey still spilled against the wood.

  “This is XC,” Sydney said, standing up from where she was running a test on the lip of the glass. “A new nerve agent.”

  She still looked unsteady, her movements a little slower than they should be, but her speech and thoughts seemed to be back to normal. Better than how she’d been just half an hour earlier, at least, when she was gasping in the pool. When she was kissing him in desperation, and he was doing the same in turn.

  Now he found himself looking at her, his mind clouded with uncertainty. What if Claire had been in on it? What about Dameon?