It took her a few long seconds before she seemed to will herself to bend toward him and give him an awkward hug.

  “You look pale,” she said in a soft voice, her eyes searching his face.

  “I’m doing okay,” he replied. He forced his legs to curl up a bit, making room at the foot of the bed, smoothing the bedsheet because he knew she couldn’t sit on wrinkles. “Here, Mom. There’s plenty of space.”

  “Meí shì. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” she said, even as she slowly seated herself at the farthest edge, as if the bed was forcing them into close proximity.

  The quiet gathered thick between them. It was how Winter always felt in her presence—like a child, no matter how old he got, like he could never quite escape the feeling of being small and hungry for her acceptance. Even now, he could feel his brain revving up, spinning nervously for what he could share with her in the hopes that it might make her proud for a moment.

  “Claire called me the instant it happened,” his mother finally said. She wrung her hands repeatedly, and Winter watched the skin on her fingers turn light yellow from the pressure. “I couldn’t watch the video footage they kept showing on TV. They say there was an extortion scheme.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I hear.”

  His mother seemed to tremble. “I hope they lock them away for good.”

  Winter struggled to take in her words, unsure what to say in response. “Me too,” he finally managed.

  Another beat passed between them.

  “I brought you some food,” his mother went on. “Pastries. They’re still warm, so you should eat them soon. Oh.” She frowned, her brows furrowing. “I forgot them in the car.” She started getting up from the bed. “Wǒ qù ná. I—”

  “No, it’s okay,” Winter said, and she paused to look at him. “I don’t mind them cold. Thank you.”

  “Of course. The shop was just around the corner from here. I should have gotten something else for you.” Her eyes darted around the room, settling on everything except for him. “I realized I don’t know what you like for breakfast. You did used to eat lemon bread.”

  “I meant, thank you for coming all the way here,” Winter added. “To see me.”

  His mother paled at those words. Her eyes widened a little, and in them, he could see the glimmer of hurt. “Why do you say that?”

  He blinked. “Say what?”

  She lowered herself back onto the bed and folded her arms. “I’m your mother,” she said after another silence. She sounded as if she were convincing herself. “A son shouldn’t have to thank his mother for visiting him.”

  Winter let out a breath, guilt clouding his head. He didn’t know what to say anymore. “That’s not what I meant,” he started again. “I’m just glad to see you, Mom.”

  She shook her head. “It is what you meant,” she replied, holding a hand up. “And it’s okay. I know I haven’t been a good mother to you.”

  Winter felt his heart quickening. Five minutes in, and he was already screwing up their conversation. “No, Mom, that’s not true.”

  She looked directly at him, and the expression in her eyes made him stop.

  “I haven’t been a good mother to you, Winter Young,” she said again, slower and quieter. “And I haven’t been honest about that.”

  Winter opened his mouth again, but the silence went on, and the chants from outside filled the space between them. They stared at each other.

  At last, his mother broke their stare and looked at a spot on the bed. “Before Artie, I had a plan for everything. Good things require a plan, you know?” She glanced up at him, then quickly down again. “But after everything happened, I…”

  She folded her hands in her lap and studied her pale fingers for a moment. Winter stayed quiet as she trailed off, his heart bleeding, unwilling to break the silence lest this version of his mother retreat back into her shell. For the first time since that night on the balcony, he could see a piece of her heart exposed.

  “I’m not as strong as you are, baby bear. I can’t bear the weight of it. So I run.” She turned quieter. “I run and I run away from you. And I’m so sorry. But I promise I’m trying my best. I want to be here. I want you to know that, okay?”

  He noticed she didn’t say that she would stop running. She knew she couldn’t, and he knew, too.

  There was an urge in him to tell her that he wasn’t what happened in her past. That he was more than just a reminder of her pain. But the words remained unspoken. It didn’t matter how many times his mother left him, how many times she forgot him or neglected him. All that mattered to him in this moment was that she had come to see him today. His whole heart wrapped around this knowledge, this seemingly small gesture that he knew had been so difficult for her.

  “I know, Mom,” he said gently. He fought to steady his voice as if his life depended on it. “It’s okay. You’re here.”

  She searched his face, her jaw tight from holding back unshed tears, and nodded repeatedly in a small, quick motion. A glimmer of a smile appeared on the edges of her lips. “I’m really proud of you, baby bear. You’ve done so well.”

  Now he was truly in danger of crying. He pulled himself back and held tight, as if this were all just one of his acts, and swallowed hard.

  “Thank you, Mom.”

  They fell back into their silence. This time, there was peace to it, and Winter caught himself counting the seconds out, relishing each of them and storing them away somewhere safe in his memory. Like the times when they used to ride the bus together, side by side, quiet. Like the times after dinner when they sat across from one another, their food half-eaten on the table, each of them lost for a few minutes in their own, better world.

  Maybe it wasn’t closeness. Maybe it never would be. But at least, in these moments, he felt nearer to understanding her than he ever had. And he knew that, whenever she needed someone with whom to share her grieving heart, he would come to her side. Whenever she was overwhelmed by the parts of her brain that tragedy had broken, he would care for her. He knew she would never reciprocate it. But he would still be there for the scraps of her love for the rest of his life.

  Then he heard his mother sniffle, saw her pull her handkerchief from her pocket and wipe her nose once before pocketing it. She looked at him again and smiled, and he knew her heart had receded again, eager to move on.

  “You take your time and get well,” she said. “Call me when you need me. And when you head back out on the road, I want you to be careful, okay?”

  She was reaching the limit of what she could bear around him. He could feel her aching to get away already, the nearness of him resurfacing all of her demons that she’d spent so many years trying to bury.

  “Okay,” he said, offering her a smile. But he found himself wishing her goodbye again, knowing she would be gone for a long time, and wishing some peace for her in her endless journey to fill the empty spaces in her mind. Wishing he could help her.

  “Okay,” she repeated, and the awkwardness between them returned. She rose to her feet, her hands wringing again, her eyes flitting about. For a moment, she hesitated. Then she stepped toward him, stopped halfway, and reconsidered.

  “Take care of yourself, baby bear,” she said again. Then she turned around and left the room.

  Winter stared at the door long after she stepped out and disappeared. Then his breath released, and he realized his entire body was trembling.

  Suddenly, the new aloneness in his room felt overwhelming. He wanted to swing his legs over the side of the bed and go running after her, if only for a bit of company. He felt the loneliness crowd around him, the weight of that ever-present depression pushing against the corners of his mind.

  And then, in the middle of that crush—

  He saw Claire’s head peek over the side of the open door.

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to, at the look on his face. All she did was walk in, sit down on the bed, and take his hand in hers. She squeezed it, and he felt himself relax at the warmth of her palms.

  How did she always know when he needed her?

  “How are you feeling?” she asked him quietly, the question different this time than when she’d asked just a little while ago.

  Winter couldn’t answer. All he could do was look down, holding his breath, still counting seconds in his head.

  He felt Claire wrap her arms around him, felt himself lean into her embrace in exhaustion.

  “Go easy on yourself,” she murmured. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

  He nodded against her. And then, finally, he let himself cry.

  37

  Loyalty to a Secret

  The sun had begun its slow descent when Sydney arrived back at the hospital.

  Sauda sat in the car with her. She had been in Sydney’s hospital room—a different hospital than Winter’s, as a precaution—as they tended to her kaleidoscope of wounds, had remained silent through the doctor’s reports under the guise that she was an Elite Securities representative.

  When Sydney could breathe well enough again without oxygen therapy, they’d taken a drive together, and there in the safety of the car, Sydney had debriefed her on the rest of the mission.

  Now Sauda pulled their car to a stop at the rear of the building, then leaned back in her seat. Sydney looked straight ahead, tensing in the awkward silence between the two.

  “You don’t need me to stay any longer?” she asked Sauda after she couldn’t bear the pause anymore.

  Sauda shook her head. “I think you’ve done enough for one mission,” she replied with a raised eyebrow.

  Sydney didn’t look at her. She was too afraid.

  “You said it with such a straight face,” Sauda began. “That you understood our orders. And then you went off and deliberately disobeyed every single one.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not convinced that you are.” Sauda gave her a stern, sidelong glare. “You realize Niall and I don’t make these calls lightly, right? This all could have gone so much worse.”

  “But it didn’t,” Sydney muttered, her voice so small and sullen that she could barely hear it herself.

  Sauda frowned at her. “No, it didn’t,” she replied. Then she sighed. “I suppose it’s our fault.”

  “For training me to think for myself?”

  The woman waved a frustrated hand once in the air. “For caring too much.”

  In her answer, Sydney thought she heard the hint of someone else Sauda once was—someone with a hotter head and quicker temper, who wore her heart on her sleeve. Sydney studied her, but the woman didn’t say more.

  “And is that my last mission?” Sydney asked quietly after a while.

  “Last mission?” Sauda answered.

  Sydney hesitated a long moment. Her heart was hammering now. “My lungs,” she said. “I didn’t tell you. I’m sure Niall knows by now, too.”

  When Sauda didn’t answer, Sydney turned her eyes up at the woman. There, she saw a soft expression.

  “Sydney,” she said gently. “We know.”

  Sydney blinked. “You knew about my condition?”

  “Why do you think I always taught you that it’s better to be smart than fast?” Sauda gave her a smile. “I wove breathing therapy into all of your training.”

  All this time, Sydney had boxed herself in tighter and tighter, feeling the suffocation of her secrets as surely as she felt the strain in her lungs. Thinking she had somehow managed to keep everything hidden. They knew. They had always known.

  “Why did you keep me on?” she murmured.

  “This is not some kind of temporary work-for-hire job,” Sauda answered. “You are one of us now. That means Niall and I made a joint decision on everything that comes with you, that the parts of you that may challenge us are overshadowed by the parts of you that can benefit this agency.” Sauda fixed her gaze on Sydney. “You may operate on your own in the field, but you are never truly alone.”

  Sydney swallowed hard. She could feel the weight in her throat, the threat of tears building in her eyes.

  “The future doesn’t have to haunt your present, Sydney,” Sauda said. “And neither does your past. I hope that someday you’ll be able to embrace this. Understand?”

  Sydney cleared her throat, forcing back her tears so that she could answer. “Yes, ma’am,” she whispered.

  Sauda looked over at her, studied her expression, and gave her a small smile before looking away. “Remind me,” she said, “to tell you about all the trouble I got into as a new Panacea agent.”

  Sydney looked quickly at her. “What do you mean, as a new Panacea agent?”

  “I mean, my stories might help you get your footing.”

  She was talking about the promotion, about Sydney moving from an associate to a full operative, with a permanent, dedicated team and a partner.

  Sydney laughed, then hurriedly wiped away her tears. She tried to imagine her mentor as a brash, rebellious young operative, going against her orders and causing mayhem. Somehow, it didn’t seem so surprising.

  Sauda straightened, a note of formality returning to her voice. “Don’t get too excited yet. I still need to run it past headquarters. And at this point, Niall sounds like he’d rather wrap you in bubble packaging than agree.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And don’t assume you’ll get out of all this with no consequences. When we arrive back in the States, we’ll discuss next steps. I can have you on a plane with me in a few hours. All you need to do is stay in the car, and we’ll head to the airport right now.”

  Right now. Without saying another word to Winter. Some of her euphoria wavered, and Sydney felt the sinking disappointment in her stomach. They would leave without warning, disappear from his radar so thoroughly that he would have no way of contacting her again.

  Sauda must have sensed her hesitation—or perhaps she caught the way Sydney’s eyes shifted in the direction of the hospital. The building’s front lawn was still clustered with thousands of fans, all eagerly waiting for updates about Winter even though medical staff had come out several times to ask them to disperse.

  “Or you can fly back in the morning,” Sauda then added with an understanding nod. “It’ll give you some time to wrap up any personal loose ends you have.”

  Personal loose ends. There was a slight emphasis on the words, and it was how Sydney realized Sauda knew about her growing feelings for Winter.

  It was also Sauda’s way of telling her that she needed to bid him goodbye.

  Of course she should. This happened at the end of every mission—she cut the necessary ties with the people she worked with, and then she went back to her life. She had been trained in how to say farewell a thousand different ways, to a thousand different kinds of people. She was good at it.

  So why was she hesitating now?

  “I’ll come back tonight with you,” Sydney finally said, forcing the words out. They came out steadier than she thought they would. Cooler. “Hold a spot on the plane for me.”

  Sauda studied her. A moment passed in silence before she said, softly, “I’m sorry, Syd.”

  Sydney stared at the hospital. “For what?”

  “You know.”

  Her unspoken answer filled Sydney’s mind.

  She waited a moment longer before she finally turned to Sauda. “How do you and Niall do it?” she asked.

  “Do what?” Sauda replied.

  “Stand staying apart from each other? Never taking the plunge on being together?”

  Sauda didn’t answer right away. “Because we care about each other,” she said. “And when you care about someone, you want them to have a good life. A happy life.” Her voice turned quieter. “We can’t give each other that.”

  Sydney nodded. She had always known this was the answer. When they signed up for Panacea, the agency swore them to something above love. Above commitment to another person. Loyalty to a secret above all else. It was a security issue, of course, but most of all, it was an issue of faithfulness. Panacea was the love of their lives. You couldn’t dedicate yourself fully if you prioritized someone else. It was her sacrifice in exchange for the privilege of doing important work, the kind that changed people’s lives without them ever realizing it, the kind that she felt in her bones.

  If Sauda and Niall ever broke that rule, the agency would require them to separate immediately, or fire them. A life together was impossible.

  A life with Winter was impossible.

  “It’s the way of things,” Sauda added after a while.

  “The way of things,” Sydney echoed. She took a long breath and felt the slight, ever-present strain of it in her lungs. She thought she saw a glimmer of sadness for her in the woman’s eyes.

  There was nothing to be sad about, she told herself. She was going to get her promotion. This was all she’d ever wanted.

  Nothing else.

  Then Sauda nodded at Sydney before leaning back in the car’s seat. “Nine o’clock,” she said. “I’ll have a car sent to wherever you are.”

  38

  The Sun and the Moon

  Sydney entered the back of the hospital alone. A nurse at the check-in desk recognized her, rose from her seat, and motioned an assistant over to escort her upstairs to Winter’s suite. Sydney walked in a daze, and for once, she found herself not caring to notice the doctors and nurses passing her by, the number of steps on the stairs, the wan color the fluorescent lights turned people’s faces.

  The assistant stopped short of Winter’s doorway and motioned politely for her to come forward. Then he left, and she stood alone.

  When Sydney stepped inside the suite, she saw an empty, rumpled bed. A lean silhouette stood at the window, his hands in his pockets, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the trail of geometric lines and serpent tattoo winding around his left forearm. His blue-black hair was as perfectly messy as she remembered from their first meeting. Only the slightest hint of bandages underneath his shirt reminded her of his wound.