"Holy..." Akbar Jamshed Junejo's estate was huge. The mansion, which was one of the few in the city, boasted large, gated grounds, spacious lawns, and a gothic brick structure, looming above us.

"Five guards on the east end," Azaan muttered, checking the perimeter with his goggles. I had been vehemently denied a pair.

"On the walls or on the grounds?" Sush crackled in our ear.

"On the wall."

"Pretty sure they've also got jammers in place."

"If not now, they'll have them on Saturday."

"And guards," Azaan's voice rose even more. "Four guards. Two uniforms at the front door, one at the staff entrance, and in plainclothes probably rotate, depending on the day."

"Cameras?" Al asked.

"Lots," I answered her.

"Blind spots?" Sush added.

"I'll create some," Al said. Across the street, the lights flickered to life."I've recalibrated the electronic guestlist and the special chip embossed armband to make sure no one bothers you."

"I'll contact Riaan to let him know. He'll provide us with the details and a way out. Azaan, you'll be coming with me. See you at the safe house in four hours."

"I'll meet you there," He replied, disconnecting the call and starting the engine. The car purred to life and we pulled out of the swanky neighborhood, in companionable—if unusual—silence.

"Should I be relieved or worried that you haven't said anything in the past three hours?" Azaan asked as we drove through the backstreets of the city, weaving our way back to the compound.

"I've been thinking of ways to begin that don't involve screaming and or cursing."

"Interesting."

"More than the fact that you knew me when we were kids?"

He cursed, his hands flexing on the steering wheel. "You've known this for exactly how long?" I stayed silent, watching the muscle in his jaw tick. I didn't trust my voice enough to speak. "My parents told me you were dead," He continued."And then I saw you three years ago, sitting in a cafe, with that small ring on your pinkie, and I knew. I knew it was you."

"How did you track me?"

"Aleena did not make that easy, I'll tell you that," At my raised eyebrow he sighed. "Your parents."

"Why didn't you say anything? This past whole month, you could have mentioned this at any point, and yet you chose to infuriate me."

"Would you have believed me?" I chose not to reply. "Where did you go, Eliza? You disappeared into thin air," More like was recruited by a certain someone and forced to erase my identity. "I wanted to ask. Wanted to know. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it," His eyes flickered to my face. "The records only show the past five years. I know there's more."

I said nothing as my heart threw itself around my chest, watching the world speed past us.

"Eliza?"

My jaw ached from how tightly I was clenching it as I forced myself not to answer. Maybe if I ignored him, he'd stop asking questions. Highly unlikely, but one could always hope.

Azaan looked at the road, waiting.

"What?" I demanded.

"Why didn't you contact me?"

I mashed my lips together as my focus shifted to the approaching night beyond Azaan. "I don't even know why we're having this conversation."

"I don't know why we shouldn't."

How could I tell him? How could I tell him what I'd been through? That four summers after he'd moved to Canada, we had been kicked out of our community because of my parents and their disgusting habits. That I couldn't just message him on Facebook or send him an email. That my sixteenth birthday had been spent on a broken potholed road, trying to survive, scrambling to feed my sister and to keep the two of us safe. How could I tell him that I'd had my first kill at the age of seventeen, only so I had enough money to get my sister through middle school? That I'd snuck around libraries trying to get an education, begging people to let me study. That by eighteen I knew of the things that would keep me alive. That I had a dangerous set of skills and not a high school diploma. All I knew was how to lie, cheat and swindle.

How would he see me then?

"It's in the past. What's done is done."

"Wahaaj told me about your contract," His features tightened as some sort of emotion flickered across them. "It only mentioned Aleena, there was no mention of you."

"I have to look after her."

"But who's looking after you?" His gaze caught and held mine, and my heart started pounding. I fell into his warm depths, and I could feel my mask cracking. Frustration began to burn a hole through me. He had no right to say these things to me. Instinct triggered self-preservation even as his words tugged at my foolish heart.

"I can look after myself," The back of my throat burned as a knot of ugly, painful emotion lodged there. "I've done so for the past ten years."

"Eliza..." Above, the moon hid her face behind a wall of clouds, and the stars were no more than tiny dots of light, seen through a wispy veil. He pulled into a maze of industrial streets, each one more misleading than the next, accurately reflecting the confusion within me. "Don't do this."

My nerves jangled as if I stood on the edge of a great precipice. Dangerous. This whole thing was dangerous. I had to get out of this car. Immediately.

The car rolled to a stop and I jumped out, barely sparing him a glance.

"I'll see you at the party," I didn't even bother saying goodbye as I very nearly sprinted to the main door. It was new. To have someone fear for my safety—I'd experienced that awful sensation multiple times with Al; to have another person, who wasn't related to me, inflicted with it was beyond me.

Azaan might be concerned for me now, but it wouldn't take him a second to back out once he realized who I really was, what I'd done. I didn't belong in his perfect pristine world and he didn't belong in mine.

༻⸻⸻༺

I pulled out a black scarf and wrapped it around my face, heading to the back door, a burner phone in my hand.

Al looked up from her computer, her eyes squinted as she looked at me. "El, where are you going?"

"I've got a few errands to run."

She opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it, watching me leave with a furrow between her eyebrows.

Almost six hours later, I stood near the back wall, watching my contact place the package on the metal staircase, his other hand filled with cold hard cash.

"Do you need anything else?"

I breathed in the slightly damp air. "No, thanks Pix. I owe you one."

"Good luck," He mumbled, crossing the alley, a place where the cooks lined up to smoke cigarettes between services, where they smoked pot and kicked at the rats tearing through the trash.

Truly and wholly New York.

Cautiously hopeful, just like a wild, somnambulistic creature, I moved unhurried toward my own disappearance at dawn, sensing the outlines of the scrawny park as I walked back to the compound.

The city of dreams. Maybe just maybe, like some twisted fairytale, the city might make my dreams come true.

Less than nine hours later, I sat on the couch, sipping a soda and eating microwave kettle corn, watching the tail end of the midmorning news—listening to Sush explain the plan for the fifth time."Hope everything is clear."

I would have shot myself if I couldn't recite the plan in my sleep now.

"Crystal," I groaned, disconnecting the line.

Glancing uneasily at the bowls of red grapes and heaps of burgundy velvet on the worktable, I sighed. The clock on the mantel seemed to be stuck at four o'clock. It had to be because there was no way in hell that a minute could take this long. Al said she'd be back in a minute.

Ten minutes later, I gave up and sat on the cement ledge of the window, waiting for her, and she did not disappoint.

My wide eyes struggled to take in the creation held in front of me. Somehow, Al had managed to find for me—in a ridiculously short time—the long column of a Grecian-style gown made from a stunning, glittery bronze fabric. The cloth was airy and light and shifted like the air with even the slightest movement. The gown fell in such a way so as to shimmer under the lights in subtle ways, draping over my lithe figure like a dream coming to pool over my heels.

"I don't want to know how you managed to acquire this."

"Told you I was special, you refused to believe me," She admonished as I pulled it on.

The airy bronze fabric gathered over one shoulder with a massive bronze brooch in the shape of a star. My left shoulder, however, was bare, and instead of gloves, I wore strips of fabric—shiny copper, glittering gold, and sleek black—in a complicated weave painstakingly arranged by my sister. My right arm, partially covered by the fabric falling from where it was gathered at my shoulder, was bare except for a short version of the same glove-sleeve that ended just past my wrist.

"How much did this cost?"

"Relax, Sush said that it's on the house."

I sat down and tried to relax as Asma, Al's new friend, fixed the pins in my dark, wavy hair. She bundled up my black unkempt mess, onto the very top of my head, where they sprang like a fountain: up and then down over my shoulders, weaving glittering strands of gold and copper into my hair, using the tiny matching flowers to create a golden circlet.

"You're definitely going to catch some eyes. Maybe of a particular old friend?"

"This is so not the time Al," I managed to say, despite the fact that my mouth had gone dry and my stomach felt as if a flock of butterflies had been released within.

"I mean, when is it ever?" I rolled my eyes. She barely reached my chin, but she looked fearsome.

"I'm on a mission."

"I know. Please try to be careful," She cautioned, her voice filled with concern. I gave her a small smile. Her concern was entirely valid. This was precisely the sort of thing I loved: mystery and the possibility of danger. "Also, try to have some fun," I gave her a withering look and she laughed.

I stepped into my heels and she threw her hands around my shoulders, forcing me to lean down.

"I'll try," It always hurt to let her go before a mission. Hugging her was the only way I felt like I could protect her.

She pulled back and swatted the air, her eyes moist. "I'm serious. I'll be watching, so don't even think about pulling something."

If only she knew.

An hour later I wasn't sure if the fluttering in my chest had been from anticipation or from fear. Around me, sounds were muted – there was only the odd burst of music rising through the open doors, and occasionally the hollow laughter of a man laughing a bit too loudly. The valet opened the door and guided me towards the brightly lit entrance. Any natural illumination was only from a stilted glimpse of the moon from behind wispy gray clouds and a faulty swath of stars arcing over the dark sky.

Beads and sequins created ornate images on the brick walls: swirling vines and flowers, a celestial sky with stars and planets, a forest with tall, graceful trees embracing a glittering pond and grasses that seemed to sway. Though the furnishings were dark, the ceiling was high, so the chamber felt cozy instead of enclosed. There were five tall, slender windows that allowed in the gray light—and today the wind-tossed the black mourning banners back and forth, offering even more illumination. And this was just the entrance. A hidden flight of steps led up to a well-lit staircase on a side of the building rather than the door facing the drive.

Standing at the entryway tucked into the side of the gilded dome, I breathed in the music rising from the orchestra in the far corner. Up here, blocked from everyone's gaze, I could do what I liked. If things had been different, I would have danced to heavenly music being played, reveling in the magic, feeling alive. A massive five-tiered chandelier in the shape of an inverted pyramid hung from the ceiling. Countless tiny gaslights flickered behind crystals and cut glass. It was so tall that the bottom layer, the narrowest, hung only three feet above the seating arrangement of two chairs and a round table.

Long, silken banners in all shades of dark blue and black that were supposed to evoke the idea of night hung along with graceful spirals of delicate lights suspended from the ceiling. They bounced gently with every movement of the air as moving stairs and open lifts transported the equally glittering guests up, down, and side to side. Old-fashioned candles were arranged in elaborate clusters of ten to twenty lights per stem, and these elegant silver candelabra were scattered throughout the room along with glittering copper and gold swags draped over tables and doorways, and a large opulent fountain. Black ties, white lies, and shades of grey in the candlelight. That was all this was. A show of power and money.

From my point at the entryway, I spotted Akbar Jamshed Junejo sitting at one of the tables in the center of the room, talking to a man I recognized as his eldest son. Akbar was about 5'10, only a few inches taller than me, but he looked small next to his two hulking bodyguards. He was balding, with a short salt and pepper beard, pouchy eyes, and full lips that he licked a little too often, wearing a suit that was too large, probably in hopes of hiding his belly.

I was close.

So close to my target.

Anger flooded my system, nearly overwhelming me. It was to my advantage not to be seen by him, but it was extremely hard to control my emotions. So I fluffed my hair and made my way as expediently as possible down the steps into the shallow, circular room.

It was approaching nine o'clock. Where was Azaan? My eyes tracked Akbar as he moved towards the newly arriving guests. Coming my way.

Well, well.

"Miss, would you do me the honor?" I whirled around, taken aback. Where had he come from? A man offered me his arm, appearing from the side. I stared at him, watching his cheeks become a bit dusky beneath his freckles. He was an attractive man. Not classically, but attractive in his own striking way.

And yet, I didn't want to dance with him, my heart wanted someone else. I sighed, pausing for a second, considering his offer, my eyes going over the man in front of me. Akbar was headed this way and I didn't want him to know I was in his house, two continents away from where he'd left me. Desperate times truly called for desperate measures.

He'd do for now. "Of course."

We glided about the dance floor in a sedate but smooth rhythm. "I've never seen you in these parties before."

"I don't get out much," I replied in a clipped tone, my eyes fixed on my target, annoyed by the man in front of me.

Akbar stood at the foot of the stairs, laughing without a care in the world. The guy led me towards the food tables and I snatched a salad knife from the setting, hiding it under the bindings on my arm. It was just sharp enough to pop a blood vessel.

With enough force, it could injure and maim too.

The guy dancing with me must have said something but I ignored it, my eyes focused on Akbar. I could end this whole thing right now. He would be dead. No one would know the particulars. Just that he fell to his death.

I didn't even notice that I'd stopped dancing and was now moving towards him, the knife held between my fingers now, leaving my partner looking at my back with a confused expression.

Someone snagged me around the waist, moving so silently that I hadn't even heard him come at me.

A gentle yet strong hand gripped my arm, spinning me away from that vile man. I tried to twist, but the arm clamped down on my waist, pulling me back against the chest. The man pressed his fingers into my wrist, forcing my hand to spasm open and the knife fell to the floor, kicked underneath one of the many banners by a single shiny black shoe.

"May I?" He led me into what might have passed for a waltz if we were elsewhere and dancing to a different melody. As the music flowed, it called for a closer hold; the slow slide and brush of his arm as we spun in languid motions.

"I believe you're supposed to ask before you spin me around."

"If you went any further, he might have gotten suspicious," Azaan muttered, very neatly whirling me around to continue the dance.

I turned to look at him, and the moment I saw him, I felt the breath I took catch in my throat. Slim and handsome in a formal black tuxedo, a white shirt, and a crisp black necktie, Azaan was flawless, ice-cool and utterly self-possessed. His broad shoulders filled out his jacket, his stature confidant. With high and angular cheekbones, a straight nose, and a proud face, his hair brushed back and softly toppling over his forehead, he looked every bit of the role he was playing tonight.

A spoiled rich brat.

Beautiful, but in the way all wild, dangerous predators were.

I was in deep trouble.

"Are you encouraging me to kill you?"

Azaan chuckled, the sound of his amusement rocking through me. "That wouldn't be very professional of me would it?"

"Are you always this-" I struggled for the right word."-strange?"

"Are you always so suspicious?"

"No, sometimes I'm even worse. Depends on the day."

"Huh," Azaan pulled me close, lashes lowering halfway. "I do have a question for you, but you don't have to answer," There was a glint in Azaan's eyes that felt almost dangerous. Reckless. Daring.

"Maybe I will, but you won't know unless you ask."

"A smartass. I like that."

My eyes darted up at the compliment, like some pathetic flower after a long drought—greedy for any drop of rain. I smiled. "You're not the first to call me that."

"I'm not surprised," Azaan tipped his head to the side. "The man you were dancing with ... would you have married him?"

"That's an odd question," I said instantly.

"Humour me."

"No."

"Why not?" My heart stammered as my eyes locked onto his, orbs a shade of stunning dark melting chocolate.

"Because two-dimensional men are boring."

Azaan cocked a brow, a slow, devastating smile spreading over his face and he looked up as if he'd made a discovery. He stared at me with a searing intensity that rooted me to the spot.

"What would it take, Eliza?" He asked, his eyes flaring intently.

His thumb swept over the back of my hand, between the gold strips and I took in a deep breath. My heart was beating so fast I could feel it drumming against my chest. Because almost everything I had learned about Azaan was ripping the fabric of my reality. His gaze held mine, hands tightening at my waist and my heart stuttered.

Maybe I'd regret this later as I gave him more and more pieces of me, but I wanted him. And I was done denying myself anything. Who would have thought that years later, we would be here? I wasn't an angel. He wasn't one either. We were both adults who'd come together in the unlikeliest of circumstances, still searching for something. For someone.

I followed his lead, looking away, contemplating his question, anticipating his turns an instant before he made them. "The right kind of guy."

The muscles under my hands bunched as Azaan laughed and pulled me closer. "And who is that?"

"The one who can give me what I want."

His gaze caught mine, holding strong. "Care to let me in on the secret?"

"I just want to be free, Azaan," I heard the longing in my voice. The yearning for a piece of something. I was sure he heard it too.

"You will be after tonight," He wasn't wrong. Death was freedom.

Suddenly tired, I didn't want to play the coy spy anymore. I wanted to be selfish. I wanted this mission to succeed so I could spend time with him, so I could spend time with my sister. For the first time in years, I wanted to relax. To wake up without the fear of being hunted. To have friends. A home. A life. Something stable and trustworthy and real.

I wanted to believe in that. I looked at Azaan and knew he wanted it too. He wanted it which was why he had searched for me. Followed me. Teased me. He was just as incomplete.

He spun me around, and I thought his eyes warmed like they did when he was amused or...or feeling a certain way I did not dare acknowledge. But this was something else entirely.

His look made me think of warm skin and stolen promises, a brush of those rough, calloused hands that held mine reminded me of safety, his fingers curled around my palm provided strength. He reminded me of sunshine and roses. Of small cottages and long walks in the park. Of treehouses and whispered secrets in the dark.

Of a fire, I'd thought Akbar had extinguished long ago and a spirit I thought he'd broken years before.

As we circled the floor, I let my head fell back, trusting him. The world whirled over Azaan's shoulder, less from motion or anxiety, more from simply being drunk with him. Inhaling deeply through my nose, I devoured him with a look while the rest of me arched and yielded, twisting and spinning in steps so fleeting that I lost the thread of them, my body entirely given to his guidance. We moved together with a single will, all but merged, and just when I thought I would surely erupt into flames...the music peaked and drifted into silence.

Holding me close after the last turn, he gazed down at me, his smile long gone, reflecting the same fire I could feel blazing through me. I trembled, my breath coming fast, and for an infinite moment, I met his look, my nails curling into the nape of his neck, holding him close. His hands fluttered over my waist, just inches above where they should have been, the air between us electric and thick. Charged. It was too much, too intense, and there was no escaping it.

For the first time in years, I felt like just another girl. A girl in the moment, needing it to be real—wanting a romance that could span through the years. A love that could overcome geography, class, and time. A love that would stay.

For the first time, I wondered if building those high walls and having no attachments was worth it.

༻⸻⸻༺