“Oh! I’m so excited. We’re renting the most fabulous house on Lake Tahoe near Carnelian Bay. We’ll have a yacht on the lake augmented to look like you’re in a crater on the moon, and clambakes, DJs—the celebration will go on for days, but people will talk about it for months. We’ll keep the first night small, exclusive…”

“You know, Mom? That does sound fun.” I injected all the brightness I could muster into my voice. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe some time away together is what I need to reconnect with Deena and the girls.”

“That’s my Ella.” She kissed my forehead. “Your father will be pleased.”

I nodded. “Can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m exhausted.”

“Of course.” Rising, she crossed the room. “Get your beauty rest, my love. We’re going to have them eating out of your hand.” With a grin, she closed the door behind her.

As soon as she was gone, I jumped out of bed. Scouring my closet for Mom’s old piggy bank, I found it tucked in a long-forgotten corner. Change secured, I grabbed a lipstick and drew a haphazard zigzag across my face, hoping it was enough to disguise me, before creeping onto my balcony, umbrella in hand. My room was on the second story, but it wasn’t a long way down. I swung my legs over the railing and leaped before I could think, grasping the branches of the olive tree. Shimmying to the trunk, I climbed down. Once I reached the ground, I put up my umbrella and walked through the canyon, grateful to the moon for lighting my way.

I headed to the corner of Santa Monica Boulevard and Van Ness. Augmented, it was a Tuscan courtyard. Without AMPs, it was an abandoned strip mall. When I arrived, as I suspected, there it was—a gleaming beacon of hope—a pay phone.

Allard answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

“According to the 1870 Old Farmer’s Almanac, it means ‘I’ll never tell. A secret between friends.’ Is it true? Can I trust you? Because I don’t think I can trust anybody,” I said without introduction.

“Are you on a safe phone?”

“Yes.”

“Ella.” I could hear a smile in her voice. “We follow the Moscow Rules at Keystone, and the gist is ‘trust no one.’ But yes. If you have it in you to believe that some people are more good than evil, you can trust me.”

“What are the Moscow Rules?” I asked.

“If you’re calling for the reason I think, you’ll learn.”

“You’re right. You know why I’m calling,” I said. “So how do I do this?” I wanted her to hurry. I wanted a plan. Now. Before I lost my nerve, before the adrenaline abandoned my veins.

She sucked in her breath, then let it out in a rush. “We’ll fake your death. Nobody comes back from the dead.”