“When I get in,” Sydney clarified. “You stay out here, make sure you’re watching for trouble. We need our escape route to be foolproof.” She cast him a skeptical glance. “You know how to ride the motorcycle?”

  He shrugged. “I used one once for a stunt.”

  Sydney winced. “Good enough.”

  Up on the wall, she saw a faint, moving glow. A single guard was walking around inside the premises with a flashlight. She waited until the light had turned to the back of the building.

  She and Winter exchanged a look. Then she clicked the pen, set up the flare, and tossed it near the entrance.

  The shock of the flash was so bright that, even knowing to brace themselves, Sydney still flinched, the light washing out her closed lids so that even the darkness looked bright red. Instantly, she moved in the direction of the gate, her eyes still shut.

  The light was there and gone in the span of three seconds. By the time she reached out and felt the stone cold and hard against her fingertips, the night had gone dark again.

  Sydney opened her eyes. The flare had temporarily thrown off her night vision, leaving spots of color dotting her sight, and she fumbled against the wall for a second before feeling the edge of the gate. Her fingers found the lock. She pulled the pin from her hair, then went to work on it.

  Inside the building, she heard a faint mutter of voices. English, although she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  The lock finally made a satisfying click. Sydney shoved the pin back in her hair and slowly pulled the door open.

  The lone guard making rounds in the complex was, as her timing had correctly estimated, still behind the building. Sydney slid inside and made her way through the shadows until she pressed herself against the building’s wall. There, she paced herself, following the faint glow of the guard’s flashlight until she had made her way to a window.

  The light inside the window shone cold and fluorescent. Even before Sydney could edge her way to the side enough to peek in, she recognized the deep grate of Tems’s voice.

  “There’s not enough time,” he was saying.

  “There’s plenty,” came a reply in an American accent.

  She froze. Who was he talking to?

  “They’re going to come back, you know.” That was Tems speaking again. “I’m her mission. She’s not going to forfeit it, it’s not in her nature.”

  Sydney felt her throat turn dry. She slowly edged forward just enough to catch a glimpse of the room.

  It was a sparsely furnished space, just a single long table with four chairs, the fluorescent rectangle of light on the ceiling casting everything in a cold, harsh glow. Tems sat across from three others, his elbows resting on the tabletop, and together, they looked like they were deep in discussion.

  Sydney stared at the scene as if it might be an illusion, racking her brain for understanding.

  And right away, she recognized one of the other three officers sitting at the table. His face had been seared into her memory the moment he’d attacked her at the airport.

  He was right here. It was unmistakable—the man who had lunged at her with the knife was now seated calmly across from Tems, his arms crossed.

  A cold realization began seeping into Sydney’s veins.

  “Go back with her, then,” one of the others, a woman, said.

  “What about Panacea?” Tems asked. “I need to stay a little longer. There’s a few loose threads.”

  “We’ll take care of your loose threads,” her attacker interrupted. “What is it, your luggage?”

  Tems shook his head. He didn’t look like a captive or the subject of an interrogation. There were no cuffs on his hands or feet, nothing binding him to the chair. His posture was relaxed, with no intention of bolting from the room. “My recorder in the hotel. I didn’t have time to get it.”

  “We’ll send someone.”

  “What are you going to tell the director?”

  The man shrugged. “CIA needed some more time.”

  CIA. The man who had attacked her at the airport was a CIA agent. They were all agents, sent over by the government. Sydney felt her stomach twist sharply, the impossible questions bubbling up in her mind even as she answered them herself. Why was Tems sitting here, talking with them like they had all been working together? He had been unable to reach them after the assassination, had looked and sounded so frustrated. Why was he now talking about Sydney’s mission as if it were an obstacle, like he had no intention of following through with their escape?

  Unless he’d never intended to. Unless he had never really been here for Panacea.

  His words came back to her from the night they’d talked at the hotel. When she’d asked him if she needed to contact the CIA.

  No need to make contact, he’d said. I’ll check that they’re in place for us.

  “You should have let Seah in on everything,” Tems muttered now. “It would’ve made things less complicated for us.”

  “Seah couldn’t know. He was a liability.”

  “You don’t plan an assassination for six months just to risk it all on a loose asset.”

  “You should know. At least yours went smoothly.”

  Tems gave a single, cynical laugh and nodded. “At least mine did.”

  At least yours went smoothly.

  Sydney had to lean against the wall for support. Her mind whirled, trying to make sense of what she’d just heard. It couldn’t be true. But in her head, all she could see was Tems giving her a wry smile.

  An agent never asks directly. They only know what makes sense.

  And she knew, with a certainty that made her sick to her stomach.

  Tems hadn’t been here to work on his Panacea mission to stop the assassination. He had been here for an assassination. But not for Rosen. Not for Rosen. Sydney’s breathing sped up until her lungs hurt.

  At least yours went smoothly. At least yours went smoothly.

  Tems had planned Niall’s murder.

  30

  Walking a Tightrope

  Sydney squeezed her eyes shut as she struggled to process it. How could it be true? Tems had been a Panacea agent for years. He had gone through training as part of her class—they had graduated at the same time—she had worked with him on a mission. Tems had taken the Panacea oath. There had been no signs of suspicion on him at all.

  No. That wasn’t true, though. There were warning signs. He had disobeyed orders on his first outing as a recruit, had set fire to an entire train line without permission from Panacea. He had stolen her passport in Stockholm and gone against protocol, had been sent to the Sapphire Cross for it. Niall had been constantly frustrated with him.

  Sydney had gone rogue before, hadn’t she? She had done things to defy authority, too. Many agents had, for the good of their missions.

  But Tems was different. He hadn’t defied Panacea in the past for the sake of a mission. He had always done it in reaction to something. Had always acted on emotional triggers. Hadn’t Niall complained about that? Hadn’t the analyst demoted him for it?

  Now here he was, his words unmistakable.

  Through the blur in Sydney’s head came one of the questions that Tems had just asked the agents. What are you going to tell the director?

  The director of the CIA.

  Sydney’s eyes opened again. That meant the director didn’t know—that meant the rest of the CIA didn’t know. That meant that this was a rogue cell operating within the CIA, a rogue cell that had been responsible for the assassination of the US president.

  Tems had been working here with a CIA team targeting the president. They had gone through with the assassination, with his help.

  And he had gotten Niall killed.

  Had done it on purpose.

  Sydney clutched her chest and gulped in lungfuls of air until it hurt.

  Inside, Tems stood up. “I need to find my way back to them now,” he muttered. “Otherwise they’re going to be coming for me, and I’d rather we not make all of this even more complicated than it already is.”

  Sydney’s thoughts spun as the trajectory of their mission changed in her head. Now it was less about Tems’s safe exit out of the country as a fellow Panacea agent and more about getting him onto the plane in order to extradite him back to the States and have him—and indeed the rest of this rogue cell—arrested for treason.

  That meant she needed to get out of here right now, before Tems discovered her snooping around. She needed to tell Winter what had happened, had to make sure they got back to the airfield and pretended they knew nothing of what had just occurred, and get Tems on the plane with them, playing along long enough until they landed and were in Panacea’s cars.

  Sydney pushed away from the wall and looked around. There were two guards circling now, perhaps as a result of the flash of light that had made the infrared cameras temporarily malfunction. She could see one of them making their way gradually in her direction, the glow from their flashlight trembling against the ground.

  Her eyes darted up to the top of the station. Then she rose, placed her boot on the edge of the windowsill that no one could see, and pulled herself up right as the guard came around the corner.

  She crouched in complete stillness against the outside of the balcony as the man drew near, his flashlight illuminating the gravel where she had just been. She held her breath, looking on as the man swiveled the light back and forth in a bored motion of habit. He shined the light toward the gate, finding nothing.

  Then he pointed his flashlight again at the ground in front of the window where Sydney had just been. This time, he held the light still, studying the ground.

  He must have noticed the sand that her boots had shifted.

  Sydney cursed silently, listening as the guard called for his friend to come over.

  “Hey,” he said in Mandarin. Sydney crept quietly to the edge to see the man waving at the second guard.

  The second guard, a woman, approached. “What is it?” she replied.

  The man pointed his flashlight down at the ground. “Does this look like a different boot to you, or is it standard issue?”

  The woman bent down to study the floor, pointing her own flashlight at the same spot. Then she shrugged. “It doesn’t look like ours,” she said. “Maybe it’s the Americans.”

  “They didn’t come to this window,” the man said. He shined his flashlight on the windowsill. “There’s some dirt here.”

  Sydney hated when guards were competent. She crept to the opposite side of the roof and glanced in the direction where she’d left Winter to wait. There was a drainpipe running along the side of the building here. If she could slide down quietly enough, she could make a run for the back gate before the two guards arrived on the scene—that is, if Winter could see her up here and unlock it for her.

  She peered into the darkness, hoping he’d notice her, hoping she’d see him.

  For an instant, she thought she had made a mistake, that they couldn’t possibly connect in the darkness like this.

  But then she saw a slight movement near the trees surrounding the outer rim of the wall. A second later, the flash of a hand signal she would recognize anywhere. His making a scissor movement.

  Winter was watching. He had seen her.

  Sydney pointed once at the back gate.

  He didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. She knew he had gotten the message, could tell that he was no longer near his position by the trees. A warmth pooled in her stomach, giving her a surge of comfort, reminding her that she still had a partner on her side.

  Below her, she could still hear the guards talking. She swung one leg over the side of the roof and found her footing against the drainpipe. It was old and rusted, but it seemed like it would hold her weight. She didn’t have time to debate it, anyway—a second later, she had swung onto it and slid down with a low hush of wind. Her boots hit the ground in a soft thud.

  On the other side of the building, she could hear the people inside the room now talking to the guards through the window.

  “I’m not sure that’s a footprint,” one said.

  “Did you check the perimeter?” said another.

  She didn’t hear Tems’s voice chiming in, and that was what made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Had he left the room? Sydney hurriedly smoothed the sand under her boot prints, but she didn’t have time to erase her tracks the entire way. She made her way toward the back gate, hoping that Winter had already managed to get it unlocked. Toward the window, she heard the sound of feet as someone else joined the guards outside.

  She reached the gate and put her hand on the handle. Please open, she thought. She pushed it gently.

  It gave way. Her breath rushed out in a gasp of relief. Then she stepped out into the night, deep into the shadows.

  And came face-to-face with Tems.

  He furrowed his brows in concern at the sight of her. “Sydney!” he exclaimed, putting both hands on her shoulders. She shivered at his grip. “It’s not safe here—you shouldn’t have come.”

  She looked into his eyes, searching past his expression of worry to find the truth. Then she realized that she should have always known. Tems had always been a good liar. Too good at putting on a charismatic smile and then pulling the rug out from under her. Too good at pretending to be vulnerable, pretending to be friendly, pretending to be sorry. Maybe too good an agent.

  Once, she had seen him as a comrade, someone she could rely on to understand her world, someone she could speak to as an equal, someone who could be her ally—and maybe more—whenever the time was right.

  Now she only saw a killer.

  Still, she feigned ignorance and let herself look at him in relief. “You’re a goddamn pain in the ass,” she whispered. “I have to get you out of here.”

  He hesitated, looking out into the darkness. She had purposely only said that she was here, but she knew he was still searching for Winter. Then he turned back to her. “Follow me,” he whispered.

  There was nothing she could do but go along with him. They made their way to the back of the complex, to where a jeep lay in wait.

  “They won’t notice for a few minutes yet—I managed to sneak out of the room while they were searching,” he whispered as they went. His hand gripped hers tightly. “Is the plane ready for us?”

  “Ready and waiting,” Sydney confirmed, as if they were both still going along with their original plan.

  He nodded, and she fought to keep her focus. But as they went, she let herself cast a glance out into the darkness, hoping that Winter could see her. Then she tapped the top of her left hand twice in a rapid motion.

  Danger.

  She turned back to Tems immediately, as if she’d done nothing out of the ordinary, as he reached the jeep. Sydney climbed into the passenger seat.

  “They’re going to hear you start this thing,” she whispered to Tems. She turned toward the station, because she didn’t want to look directly at him—lest he see the truth in her eyes.

  “They won’t catch up in time,” he said. “It’s their only vehicle here. Their motorbikes are all locked up in the back. We’re going to need to drive with the lights off, though.”

  Sydney nodded, her heart still in her throat as she walked this tightrope of an act. Just get him on the plane, she reminded herself over and over. That was all she needed to do—make sure she trapped him in the air on the way back to the States. She could figure out a way to subdue him on board. But if she could just get him there—

  Tems glanced at her as they clipped their seat belts in place. The jeep roared to life. “Did you hear what they were saying to me in there?” he asked.

  Sydney shook her head. “Didn’t catch it,” she replied. “Did you get any clues?”

  “I got one,” Tems replied. Then his eyes darted to the windshield, as if he’d seen someone moving outside the jeep.

  Sydney looked, too. A mistake.

  And that was when she felt it—the sharp prick at her neck, then the feeling of Tems’s cool hands gripping her throat.

  When she looked back at him, all she saw was his expression, now stripped bare of any act, cold and disappointed and full of determination.

  “Sorry, Syd,” he muttered.

  Then the world blurred around her, and Sydney felt herself go limp before the darkness closed in.

  31

  A Crack in the Heart

  Sydney woke up to an argument and a searing light.

  “This isn’t a question, Mr. Bourton.”

  “I didn’t answer it as a question,” Tems snapped. Sydney could hear the clipped anger in his voice, a sound she recognized all too well. The loudness of the voices made her wince.

  “Does Panacea know she’s here?”

  “You checked her for trackers yourself.”

  The light was fluorescent, that much Sydney could tell. She squinted as her eyes fluttered open, then shut again. She tried to lift a hand to block the light, but something weighed her wrists down. Vaguely, she realized that she was tied down in a chair, and her mouth felt like it’d been stuffed with cotton.

  It made her want to gag. The nausea that made her stomach lurch shook her fully awake, and her eyes shot open again—to reveal the rest of the interrogation room at the police station.

  The three men sitting at the far table stopped talking to look at her. Beside them stood Tems with his back turned to her, his hands in his pockets. He broke from his argument too at the sound of her stirring, then glanced at her over his shoulder. The scowl on his face shifted and softened as he turned to walk toward her.

  “What do you remember?” he asked her first.

  Sydney knew why he posed this question. He must have injected her with benzodiazepine, which—in addition to being a powerful tranquilizer—had the tendency to interfere with memory. She shook her head and regretted the motion immediately as her head exploded with agony, the migraine blooming from the back of her head to the front until it felt like her entire brain had been struck with a hammer.

  “Oh my god,” she whispered. Her lips cracked as she spoke.