Jean-Luc peered down the cavern I’d just crawled out from. “My guess is to drive you away from me. If he had people following you, I’ll bet he knew you were spending time with me and that I was linked to the UN. Probably to throw off the authorities and yourself and make it as hard as he did to catch him.”

Fatigue draped across me at that point. Seb had been single-minded to the end.

I asked to wait up above for the police and the UN officers Jean-Luc told me were coming. When they arrived, they ventured down two by two, like Noah’s chosen investigators. The sun dipped behind large buildings across the square, the tip of the Eiffel Tower blazing farther beyond.

When their team emerged a good while later, Jean-Luc crouched before me and waved Seb’s silver laptop. He had watched some of the surveillance footage of our captivity before we escaped and found video of each of Seb’s other experiments. He asked me to share any information I might have on Angela’s whereabouts, to get to the bottom of things and learn the whole truth—“Shayna, please.” I repeated the same line—that Angela had disappeared, left me below, and I couldn’t tell him where she was now. He spoke with an earnestness, a vulnerability, that reminded me of our time at Angela’s apartment and the Deux Moulins restaurant. For a moment, the butterflies in my stomach fluttered their wings, waiting for the cue to commit to a full swell and build a storm of pleasant tension. The impulse to pick up back where we left off and before I read Seb’s fake email—back when I thought I was the one with secrets—was there. Knowing I remained capable of those emotions, of that connection with a virtual stranger, was reassuring. Jean-Luc and I had almost crossed that line, from strangers to familiars—maybe lovers. But that time had passed. Aching filled my chest at the thought before cautious hope replaced it. The world was wide, and I might finally be ready to explore it again.

“What time is it?” I asked.

His shoulders dropped. “Ten twenty.”

Relief bloomed in my chest, and I clutched the blanket I was given tighter around my shoulders. If Angela hadn’t made it past customs, Jean-Luc would have known about it by then. Anything on that laptop would only substantiate that her actions were in self-defense. The police might have to hire a video specialist, but someone could check the eye color of the twin holding the scalpel. Mine have heterochromia—two different colors of green and brown. Staying behind proves that I chose Angela this time, our collective safety, what’s best for both of us. And finally exonerates me in her eyes—both brown.

“Shayna?” a strong voice calls from the corridor of filing cabinets that leads out and into the lobby.