“I know you think this is a disaster. And from where you’re sitting, it is. For me, though? This, dear M, is easy. And maybe even worthwhile.”

Samantha called everyone she liked by the initial of their first name. She’d started calling Marcelline M the second time they met in the gallery, and Samantha picked it up again now, automatically, in the moment of taking her on as a pet project.

After a few weeks of lying low at Samantha’s, they’d come to a decision. The two of them together, S&M, was a joke—funny because it was a little bit funny on its own, and funny because their situation demanded honesty that was true to the point of pain.

M couldn’t stay. It wasn’t safe to be so close. She couldn’t hide there forever. Marcelline’s family was frantic over her disappearance. Owen Haig was on a rampage. And no one knew where the painting was.

When Samantha was prepping Marcelline for her next life, far away as someone else, picking her new name had been the hardest part. Well, not the first name. That had been easy. M—Em—Emma.

S had been typing, her ever-present purple manicure flashing quickly over the keys, the clicking a soothing white noise over Marcelline’s anxiety. It sounded sure. And competent. And not crazy. This was crazy.

“Okay, for the last name, just pick one of someone you love. A name that always means good things to you. You’ll answer to it quicker that way. That’s the hard part, responding naturally when your new name is called. So, what do you think?”

The prospect of not seeing her sister sprang to Marcelline’s mind. “Bethany.”

Samantha sighed. “I know. But Bethany is a weird last name. Emma Bethany? That won’t work.”

“Okay.”

“And you have the same last name as your sister. So, that won’t work either. What else?”

They settled on O’Connor after Marcelline’s third-grade teacher, a woman she’d adored and who had let her take home the class rabbit over the summer as her first pet.

“I assume you were fingerprinted for the gallery?” Samantha asked.

“Yes. They had to do everyone.”

“That’s what I thought. So a life of crime is out. Got it?”

“Probably should have told me that a couple of months ago.”

Samantha smiled and kept typing. “No, really. Don’t get arrested. Okay, now all that’s left is—” Samantha had stopped short, hands hovering above the keyboard.

All that’s left had drawn a hiccuping sob from Marcelline.