Sauda just looked coolly away and stood up. “Are you ready for the rest of the meeting, Mr. Young, or shall we postpone?”

  “Sauda,” Niall said quietly.

  “What?” She lifted her chin at the man. “Delay the inevitable?”

  “The boy’s going to take a while to digest this.” Niall glanced at Winter. “Maybe we should give him some space.”

  “No,” Winter blurted out, and all of them turned to look at him.

  “No,” he repeated more firmly. “I don’t need time to myself, and I don’t need you to give me space to process anything. I need information. I need you to tell me everything. What did he do for you? Where did you send him?” His voice turned quiet, the weight on his heart buffeted by a current of anger. “How did he die?”

  The smile that Sauda now gave him was sad, as if she had always known that his link to Artie would be their in, that somehow he was destined to be here. She sighed and stood up. “You want to know the truth?” She nodded toward the door.

  “Yes,” Winter replied.

  She opened the door and gave him a sidelong look. “Then follow us.”

  * * *

  Winter felt like he was walking through a dream. His body swayed slightly as he trailed after the others down the corridor until they reached a second elevator. Unlike the first, this one had doors made of clear glass. When they stepped inside, the doors hissed shut and text materialized over them like the screens in the office room.

  Where to?

  “Experimental Design,” Niall said.

  The text vanished, and the elevator began moving down.

  “Underground?” Winter asked.

  “Just a little bit,” Sauda replied.

  They traveled in silence for a minute before he finally said, “How little?”

  “About two thousand feet.” Sauda nodded at him. “Ready for an official introduction to your new side hustle?”

  Winter was still trying to figure out how to answer her when the dark shaft outside the elevator gave way to a floor that stretched as far as the eye could see.

  Winter stared through the glass doors at a place that seemed impossible.

  “Holy shit,” he whispered.

  The room was circular and at least several stories high, designed in a similar style to the luxurious, neoclassical hotel aboveground. Pillars decorated the space, and between them were massive stone archways, each of them leading down halls.

  One of the arched halls was filled with parked commercial airliners, another with fighter jets. Yet another had rows of cars. Other archways had clear glass across them, the doorways occasionally sliding open and shut to allow workers dressed in cobalt blue jumpsuits and helmets to pass through. Each of the halls had its arched ceiling painted a distinct color.

  Winter swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded hoarse. “Artie worked here?”

  Niall nodded. “Stood almost exactly where you are right now, the first time he took this elevator down.”

  It was as if Winter could feel the ghost of his brother here, taller and older and wiser, hands in his pockets and eyes fixed on the scene before him. Did he gape like Winter did now? Did he take it all in stride? Did he make a joke?

  How could this be real?

  Winter glanced over at Sydney. She was leaning against the back of the elevator, unconsciously cracking her knuckles, her expression almost bored. As he looked on, she took a subtle, calm breath again before exhaling slowly through her mouth.

  This was the third time he’d seen her do it. Winter noted it quietly, then looked away.

  “The Panacea Group has been active since the United States’ Revolutionary War,” Sauda explained. “After the signing of the Declaration of Independence, our founder, Charlotte May Hughes, widow and heiress to the Hughes family fortune, thought it necessary to create a secret agency not beholden to the government, one wealthy and independent enough to operate on its own terms. Over the centuries, our agents have been involved in everything from protecting the Underground Railroad to spying on the Confederacy during the Civil War, to fighting the American mafia during Prohibition, to carrying out missions against the Nazis during World War II. Sometimes we partner with the CIA and other agencies around the world, but not always.” She folded her arms. “Mrs. Hughes wanted us to always have the power to choose what is right over what is diplomatic. That’s the creed we strive to honor here.”

  She turned to nod at the enormous chamber. “Our current location had originally been intended for a series of iron mines that were abandoned back in the nineteenth century. Then there were plans to convert it into a particle collider laboratory. The lab ultimately decided to move their location deeper into the desert, and the Claremont Hotel went up over this space. So we bought the hotel and outfitted this subterranean space for our needs. Underground, shielded from prying eyes, good to experiment with small-scale versions of new weapons, good for keeping secrets locked away. Good for keeping people off our property, too, and also good for not being in the news for excavating a mysterious new place.”

  “And what, exactly, is this?” Winter asked.

  “Where we keep and test all the equipment you and the rest of our agents use,” Niall answered as the elevator finally came to a stop. “Weapons, disguises, customized phones and listening devices. You name it, we’ll have it. Many of the floors above this space are dedicated to research. You’ll spend your time here, and the floor below it.”

  “There’s more?”

  Sydney nodded and spoke for the first time since entering the elevator. “Training floor’s under us,” she told him. “We all have to practice somewhere.”

  Artie had been here. He had worked here, had wandered this secret world.

  His gaze finally settled back on Niall. “What was Artie’s job?”

  “He began as a junior analyst,” the man answered as the doors opened and Sauda guided them out. “Interned for me for six months, breaking codes and intercepting messages. But his Peace Corps work—which became his cover—made him more ideal for placement as a field operative.”

  “So, an actual spy.”

  He nodded gravely. “A good one.”

  There was unspoken grief in his voice. Winter felt a lump suddenly lodge in his throat. All those times he had rushed out of the house to wave goodbye to Artie as he drove off to the airport on some Peace Corps mission or other, he’d really been saying farewell to a secret agent heading into some of the most dangerous situations in the world. And yet, every time Artie came back, he brought presents for Mom and souvenirs for Winter, would tell animated stories during dinner about his supposed adventures, as if everything were normal. Sometimes Winter would catch him acting uncharacteristically quiet, but he always assumed it was because Peace Corps work could be heavy on the heart.

  What had Artie really endured on his own?

  He followed the others numbly as they turned into one of the arched halls, this one filled with rows of cars. He could make out a few of their brands—Mercedes, Porsches, McLarens, Bugattis. Sandwiched between them were cars in every make and model, from supercars to tiny smart cars to cars that could be in an average family’s driveway.

  “They may look like vehicles you recognize,” Sauda said to him, “but they’re not. None of those models exist in the world above.” She paused in front of a titanium-colored Mazda, then clapped her hands twice.

  Instead of opening as Winter expected, the Mazda’s doors slid sideways, and the sedan’s interior transformed into a flat space with the chairs folded back, with a secret compartment under the floor.

  “For transporting injured people,” she said, “and tending to their wounds on the go without the attention and publicity of an ambulance. Or for smuggling informants and high-risk refugees.” She clapped three times, and four sharp-edged triangles of metal extended out from the vehicle’s underbelly. “For slicing the wheels of any car that might be harassing you.”

  Then she clapped again—and the car’s entire body shifted, its wheels sucking up underneath its frame and new plates of steel coming down to seal the entire bottom of it in metal. “For if you need to change gears, quite literally, to aquatic travel.”

  Winter had seen his share of unusual cars before, but he found himself staring speechless at the transformed sedan.

  Beside him, Sydney let out a low whistle. “Do we get one of these for our mission?” she asked.

  Sauda clapped a final time, and the car reset itself until it once more looked like a family car. “Not this time. Maybe someday.”

  They exited the car hall and moved on, stepping onto a transporter that lifted them up to a higher level of archways. Here, she ushered them toward another hall, this one with an entrance sealed by a glass wall. She laid her palm flat against the glass, and it slid open without a sound, opening up to a series of adjoined cubicles. The door sealed behind them with a hush, and suddenly the bustle of the main floor cut off. Winter shivered as he looked up at the vaulted archway’s ceiling. It both felt comforting to be in this sealed space—and a little like he’d just stepped into a catacomb.

  They stopped before a row of podiums, each of them supporting glass display cases. His gaze settled on the first case. It took him a moment to realize what he was staring at.

  “Those are my earrings,” he said.

  “They’re not,” Niall replied gruffly. “They just look like them.”

  Winter looked back down at the case in disbelief. The earrings were an exact replica of a pair that Claire had gifted him years ago—right down to a slight scratch on the left’s silver frame.

  He looked sharply at Sauda. “Why?”

  Sauda tapped the side of the glass case, careful to press her fingerprint flat against its surface. The glass panels folded back like a blooming flower to reveal the jewelry within.

  “Go ahead,” she said, nodding at him. “They’re for you.”

  Winter gingerly picked up one of the earrings. It felt similar to his pair, although he could tell that it was very slightly heavier than his own.

  “Your jewelry is, of course, some of the most extraordinary in the world,” Sauda continued, “but I think our version is just a bit … fancier.”

  Winter scowled down at the earrings. “If I wanted fancier jewelry, I would’ve just called my stylist.”

  Sauda pulled out her phone and tapped on the screen. Immediately, it replayed Winter’s words, his voice clear and unmistakable on it. “If I wanted fancier jewelry, I would’ve just called my stylist.”

  Sydney grinned at Winter’s expression, and for a moment, her hostile, sarcastic demeanor gave way to something that looked like delight. He noticed her hands were still restless, her thumbs pressing against the joints of her fingers as if she didn’t know what to do with them otherwise. “Nice sound quality, isn’t it?” she said.

  Winter found himself staring at her deep blue eyes with a mix of wariness and awe. He hadn’t quite believed she was a secret agent until now. She stared knowingly back at him, head slightly tilted, so that her blond hair curtained softly in front of one cheek. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine her looking as shocked as he did when she first began working for Panacea.

  Sauda nodded. “Embedded within the silver of these earrings are the tiniest voice recorders in the world. They can pick up most conversations around them in crystal clear definition.”

  Winter tore his gaze away from Sydney’s dark blue eyes and back to Sauda. “You’re telling me you have eavesdropping tools like this,” he said, “but you’ve still never been able to gather the incriminating evidence that you need to nab Eli Morrison?”

  “Talking yourself out of the job already?” Sauda replied.

  “It’s one thing to have an elaborate listening device,” Niall said. “Quite another to get close enough to make it useful. Eli is careful with whom he hangs around and what he says. We’re always trying to get one step ahead.”

  “And with that,” Sauda said, walking to the second case in the cubicle, “here is your new ring.”

  Winter found himself staring down at one of the most beautiful rings he’d ever seen in his life. It was a coil of what looked like black diamonds ending in a length of beautiful black rock, all studded with crystals to look like a snake.

  He let out a breath. It was exactly the kind of thing that he liked to wear, something that would match his collection of jewelry. “I don’t have a ring like this,” he said.

  “Of course not,” Sauda replied. “We designed this ourselves.”

  Winter looked up skeptically at her, then pulled his sleeve up to reveal the snake tattoo that coiled around his left wrist. “You’ve been custom-making stuff for me months ahead of time?” he asked.

  “Do you think we’re amateurs?” Sauda replied. “Of course we have.” She looked at Niall, and a tone of admiration entered her voice. “You and the design team went all out. It even matches the angle of his tattoo.”

  At Sauda’s praise, Niall’s cheeks turned slightly pink. The big man coughed, thick eyebrows furrowing lower. “Didn’t take long to make,” he rumbled.

  “A symbol of some significance to you, I presume?” Sauda asked Winter.

  “Just my zodiac,” Winter replied, turning his arm this way and that. “On the Chinese calendar, snakes are loyal, crafty, and good luck.”

  Sauda seemed to sense there was more to his reason than that, but she just nodded. “Well,” she said with a shrug. “Hopefully that good luck extends to all of us.” Beside her, Sydney’s gaze flitted curiously across his face.

  Winter rubbed the tattoo out of instinct. He didn’t mention that when he was six, months after Artie had first left for college, he’d drawn a snake around his arm with a Sharpie after overhearing his parents screaming at each other during one of his father’s rare visits, his mother saying that everything they’d done together had been a mistake: the engagement, the marriage, the baby. His father had snorted and replied coldly, I never asked for a son. Winter had drawn the snake on himself after his father stormed out of the house, adding intricate details onto the scales, as if covering himself with a symbol of good luck could fix everything. He’d shown his mother his work, and she’d smiled sadly at him with those vacant, baggy eyes she always got after his father’s visits. Then she’d left the house without warning for two days and Winter had spent them alone, as he usually did, watching old concerts online and foraging in the freezer for nuggets.

  The memory vanished. He tugged his sleeve back down before returning Sydney’s gaze. “Guess I got pretty lucky,” he decided to say. She just gave him a flat smile and looked away, and he wondered how much Panacea might know about his past.

  “This snake ring is a recording device and infrared camera,” Niall said as he nodded down at it. “And that rock you see studding the top of the ring is a genuine chunk from the four-point-five-billion-year-old Hierapolis pallasite meteorite, one of the most expensive meteorites in the world.”

  “So don’t lose it,” Sauda said.

  Winter stared closer at the stone. Scattered throughout the dark rock were shimmering bits of a green-gold mineral that caught the light.

  “Olivine,” Niall said, noting Winter’s interest. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely stunning,” he said honestly.

  “We’ve tracked Connor’s buying habits and noticed how he bids at auctions,” Niall went on. “A man with exquisite taste in fashion. A big fan of rare jewels. An especially big fan of rare meteorites. He’s a collector and a patron of many museums. He’ll recognize this stone immediately—that is, if you’re given access to him. That’s where your work with Penelope will open doors for you.”

  “If she introduces you to Connor at a party,” Sauda said, “we want you to gift this to him. He’ll be delighted to wear it, and we’ll have planted a device on him.”

  Winter picked up the ring and slid it onto his middle finger. It felt cool and heavy.

  “What makes you think Connor will accept a gift from Winter?” Sydney asked.

  “With anyone else, I’d agree,” Sauda replied. “Everyone suspects those they don’t know. But from him?” She nodded at Winter. “Would you think a spontaneous gift from the biggest celebrity in the world would be bugged to report back to a spy agency? Especially if you were the one who invited him in the first place?”

  Sydney grunted, but she didn’t argue the point.

  “This is where Winter’s identity will come in handy for us,” Niall said. “You’re not exactly what people expect to come out of here.”

  “I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or an insult,” Winter said.

  Niall shrugged. “Neither. It’s just a fact.”

  They continued. Each of the pedestals held something that made Winter’s head swim. There was a credit card identical to his own, except equipped with a listening device. There were poisons disguised as colorful mints in plastic containers. There were pens that could shoot bullets, hairspray that could paralyze, and phones that could hack into a city’s traffic signals, equipped with trackers. There was also the hotel crest pin that Sauda, Niall, and Sydney wore, except that when pressed twice rapidly with its owner’s hand, it would both shoot out a needle-like blade and send an alert and location back to headquarters.

  Sauda pointed at the tiny tracker chip inside one of the displays. “We’ll be switching out your SIM card for this,” she said. “Slides in and out fairly easily.”

  All Winter could think about as they went on was what Artie must have had for his own missions, what he might have used. What might have failed him during his final moments.

  At the end, Sauda reached for something small in her coat pocket.

  “Finally,” she said, “there are these.”

  Sydney made a disinterested sound in her throat, as if she knew what was coming, but Winter frowned at the two tiny vials in Sauda’s palm, each filled with an amber liquid that reminded him of whiskey.

  “Toxins,” Niall said.

  “We always give these to our operatives on every mission,” Sauda said, “and you are no different.” Her voice shifted, turned graver. “In the event that something goes catastrophically wrong, in the event you find yourself in a situation from which you cannot escape, take this.”