In spite of herself, she found herself pausing for a moment to admire him. That spark of his shone through, even now.

  Winter looked over his shoulder at her.

  “Want to get out of here?” he asked.

  She gave him a skeptical look. “With that crowd outside?”

  “Claire’s already arranged a secret car and a place,” he said. The smile on his face was small, wistful. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Two hours left until she had to meet Sauda at the airport.

  By the time they arrived at the entrance to Kew Gardens, the sun had just set, and the sky was awash in pink and purple.

  “Shouldn’t this place be closed by now?” Sydney asked as they stepped in to see a vast expanse of grounds devoid of people.

  “Sort of,” Winter answered. He leaned toward her and nudged her gently with his shoulder. “I called in a favor.”

  Sydney had to smile a little. “Someday I’ll get used to your perks.”

  He lifted an expectant eyebrow at her, then offered her his elbow as he tucked his hands into his pockets. “Is that your way of telling me we’ll have future dates, Miss Cossette?”

  She accepted his arm. “Are you calling this a date, Mr. Young?”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m not calling it a business meeting, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  She laughed. A light breeze blew around them, and Winter leaned slightly into her as if to shield her from the cool air. She could tell that his gait was still stiff, the pain of his wound slowing him down. Her own steps were awkward, given the way her ankle had been twisted on the cargo ship. But neither of them said a word about it. For a while, they walked in a comfortable silence, taking in the beauty of the gardens around them. The grounds seemed to go on and on, rows of perfectly trimmed hedges and ponds surrounded by quiet walking paths and wooden benches. Some distance away, a massive greenhouse rose in architectural splendor, its glass reflecting the colors of the darkening sky. The trees lining the vast pool across from the structure divided the sky with their slender winter branches, casting long, elegant shadows across the grass.

  Sydney closed her eyes and savored the crisp air, taking in the shifting of seasons. All she could think about was the warmth of Winter’s body walking beside her, guiding her along the magical paths.

  As they passed an elegant temple of classical white columns, Winter cleared his throat. “Where do you go after this?” he asked her in a low voice. “Or is that classified?”

  “Classified,” Sydney answered automatically, then regretted shutting him down so quickly. Loyalty first to a secret. “Probably back to headquarters for a bit, to see out the remainder of this case and answer any questions that might come up after the CIA makes its arrests. It’ll go on for a few months yet.”

  “Anything I should be concerned about?”

  She shook her head. “I think you’re free to go back to your life now,” she said. “Wherever that might take you next.”

  “I have a few things of my own to sort out with Claire and my team,” he said. Then he hesitated for a moment. “Go easy on Leo, will you? Tell Sauda it wasn’t his fault. That he was forced into a…”

  “I know.” Sydney nodded. “We’ll take care of it. His charges will be dropped.”

  Winter nodded as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  As he did, Sydney reached into the breast pocket of her jacket and pulled something out for him. It was a business card for the Claremont Hotel, the kind that any patron to the place could probably get—on one side, an embossed image of the hotel’s crest in thin gold threading, and on the other, a simple phone number.

  “If you’re ever in need of help,” Sydney said, “call us. Give the operator your name and tell them you’d like to book the London Suite. They’ll run your voice through an analyzer and then patch you through to Panacea.”

  Winter stared at the card, then pocketed it carefully with a nod. “Thank you.”

  “It’s not much. You helped save a lot of people.” She gave him a little nudge. “I think you did all right.”

  At that, something brightened within him. A thankless good deed. He looked away, as if embarrassed, but she could see the glimmer of a smile on his lips. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he muttered.

  Sydney smiled, too, and concentrated on their path. The light dimmed further, and the colors in the garden faded into blues.

  “Off on your world tour soon, then?” she asked.

  “And on to the next mission for you?” he answered.

  She nodded. “On to the next,” she echoed.

  They were both circling around the conversation that neither one of them wanted to have, the acknowledgment of what they both knew was inevitable.

  That this was it. They had completed their mission together, and their futures held paths that led them in opposite directions. Winter would return to the spotlight, where he belonged, where he needed to be. And Sydney would go back to her life in the shadows, the world underneath what everyone knew. A spy and a superstar could never make it work.

  So she stopped in her tracks and tried to gather the right words. She was used to goodbyes, but she had never said goodbye before to Winter Young.

  “Look, I…” she began.

  He took her hand in his and pulled her gently to him. His head leaned down toward her.

  “Dance with me,” he murmured in her ear.

  She hesitated, then fell into step with him. Together in the twilight, they turned in a small, slow circle. She leaned her head against his shoulder and felt his breath warm against her hair. A low vibration made her realize that he was humming.

  The realization began to sink in that she might never see him again after this. Oh, she would catch him on TV with the rest of the world, might even get to attend his concerts or watch his interviews. But moments like this, whatever this was, would never happen again. And a new feeling splintered in her heart, a pining that felt so sharp and painful that she sucked her breath in, surprised by the suddenness of it.

  Winter stirred against her. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  No, she wanted to answer. But she nodded against his shoulder and said, “Fine.”

  He didn’t answer. She wondered if he was splintering just the same, if something about their bond felt different than the ones he must have formed with dozens of others before her, or if she was just the latest in his life’s string of love interests. If he had ever danced in a quiet garden like this with anyone else, leaning into her as if it might be their last moments together. He was a performer, after all, a master of illusion. He was the one and only Winter Young. This could all be a part of his act, and maybe he didn’t even realize it.

  After a while, he pulled away enough to look at her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “Because…” He paused, then frowned, like he had lost what he was trying to say. “Because I can’t follow you.”

  There was something small and lonely in his gaze, the look of a boy who had been left behind before. And Sydney felt her own heart twist in response, the part of her that just wanted to escape everything, the part that could only hold together if she were alone.

  She swallowed and studied his face. “I’m sorry, too. For the same.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “A little like the sun and moon, aren’t we? Never in the sky at the same time.”

  “Technically, the moon can sometimes be seen during the day, so that’s not entirely true.”

  His smile turned withering. “I’m trying to be romantic, and you’re the worst.”

  Romantic. She could feel her face warming and looked down, tucking a hair behind her ear. A small smile twitched at the corner of her lips. “Sorry. Not my strong suit.”

  He laughed. The sound filled her heart. “I think I just mean … that I’m really going to miss you.”

  “Me too,” she whispered.

  She could feel the air tightening between them, aching to pull them together. She could see him wanting to lean toward her, wanting her, and herself drawing near to close the gap between them. A farewell kiss.

  “I…” he breathed, golden light on his lashes, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “It’s not,” she murmured back.

  He gave her a sad smile. “I have a feeling we are destined to make bad decisions forever.”

  She felt her heart crack more. “I sincerely hope so.”

  He looked down and offered her his hand. She took it, then enclosed it in a handshake.

  His smile tilted up at one end. “It’s been an honor, Sydney Cossette.”

  “The honor’s mine, Winter Young,” she said.

  Then he tugged her toward him in their handshake, leaned down, and kissed her.

  She closed her eyes, savoring his warm touch, the tingle that rushed through her, the heat that flooded every limb. Savoring the fleeting seconds of this final embrace. Remembering the lyrics she’d once seen in his notebook.

  You are my meditation.

  Then she thought of the gray day when she had stood in front of Niall and pleaded with him in a low voice to take her away from everything, that in exchange, she was willing to walk away from her old life. She had given up everything at the chance of a blank slate, devoid of emotional attachments, of love and its cousin grief. Of throwing herself entirely into something that mattered to her, that felt significant and important. She had decided that what she wanted was not relationships with people like Winter but taking down people that caused others pain. That every step she took further into Panacea was a step she took away from her old home.

  So, reluctantly, she pulled away. The first stars had begun blinking into existence overhead. Sydney could still taste him on her mouth, could feel the unspoken want that lingered between them.

  Stay.

  But neither of them said it.

  At last, Winter nodded back toward the entrance. “I think your car’s here,” he said.

  She nodded. Tore away her heart. Took a step backward.

  “Goodbye,” she said.

  “Goodbye,” he said.

  As she turned to walk back toward the front of the garden, Sydney allowed herself this small, small break in her blank slate. She allowed herself to think all the words she wanted to say to him.

  I will miss you, Winter Young, and your shadow walking beside mine. Don’t forget to look for me now and then.

  I might just be there in the sky.

  39

  Could Have, Should Have

  There were a million things Winter could have done instead.

  He could have offered to ride to the airport with her.

  He could have asked her to stay another hour, found some way to take her to a coffee shop or a private dinner.

  He could have offered to fly her home on his own plane, asked her to take a spontaneous trip somewhere with him, just for a day, get to relax for a moment and just see each other as they were instead of what their roles were.

  He could have told her the truth.

  How, for instance, he’d felt his gaze drawn to her the instant he first saw her, that when she got angry at him, the color of her eyes seemed to darken like a storm. He never told her that, in all the thousands of events he’d ever attended, among all the beautiful and extraordinary people he’d met over the years, he had never met anyone like her. He never confessed to her that she lingered on his mind at every hour, as present as the bits of music that were always coming into being in his thoughts.

  That he wished he could kiss her without it being a desperate moment or a farewell.

  He should have just let himself be selfish, open his heart and damn the consequences for her, damn the consequences for himself, for those around him, for those he cared about.

  He should have told her he was falling in love with her.

  But he didn’t.

  Maybe it was for the best.

  Instead, he looked on as she got into the waiting car, waved goodbye to her one last time, and said nothing. Afterward, he stood by himself for a time in the garden, his eyes still turned in the direction in which the car had disappeared. He waited until the night had truly settled.

  Then he walked away.

  MISSION LOG

  AGENT A: “So, what now?”

  AGENT B: “Now she gets her promotion.”

  AGENT A: “Of course. Although sending her into the field as a full operative means we’ll be calling on her almost immediately after she’s recovered from this.”

  AGENT B: “You’re always so worried.”

  AGENT A: “She’s a good investment.”

  AGENT B: “What about him? He gets a certificate of completion?”

  AGENT A: “We don’t do certificates.”

  AGENT B: “I was kidding, god. What I mean is that this is where his involvement with us ends?”

  AGENT A: “Yes.”

  AGENT B: “No more contact. No letters of recommendation. No phone calls. No gift baskets.”

  AGENT A: “He’s a smart boy. He’ll understand.”

  AGENT B: “Are you sure this is permanent, though?”

  AGENT A: “When are we going to need a superstar again?”

  AGENT B: “He was pretty good, you have to admit.”

  AGENT A: “Fine, he was. But he nearly died working for us, and we’re never even going to thank him for it. Let the boy go back to his spotlight.”

  AGENT B: “I suppose.”

  AGENT A: “You don’t look convinced.”

  AGENT B: “’s not going to be happy about this.”

  AGENT A: “She just told me she couldn’t be happier.”

  AGENT B: “, darling. You can’t possibly believe came out of all that with no affection for the boy. He has enough charm in his little finger to generate electricity for a small town.”

  AGENT A: “Then it’s definitely for the best that they don’t see each other again.”

  AGENT B: “True. But still needs a regular partner as a full agent, and she could play as his bodyguard whenever we needed, as if she were on his contract. By all objective measures, they made an effective pair.”

  AGENT A: “They disobeyed orders and blew up a chemical weapon on board a cargo ship. We’re still finishing up the paperwork explaining all that to the Director.”

  AGENT B: “Okay, so they were a handful. But I seem to remember another pair out in the field that were the same.”

  AGENT A: “We were different. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  AGENT B: “No reason. I just like it when your brows do that thing.”

  AGENT A: “If this is how and are going to be, I hope we never pair them for another mission.”

  AGENT B: “I don’t know.”

  AGENT A: “Why?”

  AGENT B: “Sometimes … people just fit.”

  One Year Later

  The top headlines tonight were that Winter had shattered the latest world record for highest album sales in a release week. He heard the news as he finished up a final round of rehearsal in the dance studio, right as he picked up the phone and was greeted by Claire’s squeakily excited voice.

  “Winter,” she said. He could practically see her clapping her hands together in anticipation. “Winter. This is the best news to start our year on. Do you know I’m already getting bids from cities for your next tour, and we haven’t even decided when that will be yet? I love it. I love you.”

  A small smile emerged on his lips. “Same back to you,” he said. From the corner of the studio, he saw Dameon and Leo waving at him, making exaggerated gestures to join him for a late dinner in an hour. He waved back, throwing them a thumbs-up sign.

  “Back on your feet in no time.” Claire was still talking, somewhat oblivious to Winter’s answer. “Now, I have you set up for a string of interviews next week, but do you want some days in between to rest before kicking them off? I can bump a few of them to the following week. I can—”

  “Claire,” he interrupted, crouching down by his bag. “Take a breath. Let’s celebrate for a second before we let the rest of the world in.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Claire let out a loud breath over the phone, the sound filled with her own brand of joy and quavering with sudden emotion. “I’m so proud of you, kid. So proud.”

  Winter stopped what he was doing and smiled to himself again. “Please don’t cry,” he said.

  Claire made a shh sound, and Winter pictured her hand now waving impatiently at him. “I’m not,” she protested with a squeak. “Now, stop pandering to me and go have dinner. Enjoy yourself. Don’t drink too much. I don’t want your publicist to deal with you trending online for some three A.M. mishap.”

  Then she hung up. Without her bubbly energy, and the easy chaos of his teammates, the studio felt suddenly empty. Winter leaned back on his hands and let himself soak in the silence. His breaths were still rapid from his workout, and he could feel the beat of his heart still going frantically.

  Record breaker. He was relieved for the good news. Life had been, well, overwhelming recently. Too much for him to dwell on right now.

  Instead, in this moment, he let himself feel that familiar longing, the absence of the other world that he’d been allowed such a tiny taste of.

  And the people in it.

  This time, the longing brought with it a jab of pain.

  His thoughts about Sydney had been daily for the first few weeks after he left London to recuperate fully at home, sometimes so overpowering that he could barely bring himself to get out of bed. But now they had faded to something manageable, the image of her small, fierce face framed with blond hair pushed inevitably aside for the crowd of concerts and parties and banquets and galas and interviews that all came back with regular force once he returned to his work.

  Sometimes he forgot entirely, and that strange world felt so distant that he wondered if perhaps he had imagined the whole thing, that it had all been a fever dream.

  But sometimes, he would walk past a cobblestone street or a quiet, hedged garden. Sometimes he would see an elegant bridge or a particular frame of airplane. And those thoughts would return to his mind.