June slumped onto the sofa, and took on a new aspect. She wasn’t Marcella—couldn’t be—but she was clearly meant to be close. Porcelain skin and black hair and legs for days. The face was too wide, the eyes green instead of blue. They followed Marcella to the sideboard lining the wall, with its collection of rare, expensive bourbons.

She set the gun on the crystal top and poured Jonathan a few fingers of something dark and strong. No ice.

“You missed quite a speech,” said June. “Our girl’s got big plans.”

Marcella didn’t rise to June’s baiting. She handed the drink to Jonathan. “That’s right,” she said. “And you’re clearly meant to be a part of them.” Marcella turned to June and offered her a glass. “What about you, June?”

She wasn’t just asking about the drink, and they both knew it.

The other EO shook her head, but she was smiling, a playful, almost dangerous light in her eyes. “I’ve said my piece. Do as you please. After all, if EON comes calling, they won’t catch me.”

June took the drink, and Marcella held up her own. “A toast, to bigger, better—”

The window shattered behind them.

The bullet would have caught Marcella in the back, if Jonathan hadn’t still been staring at her. Instead, it ricocheted in a burst of light, followed in quick succession by three more, shots whistling through the air.

One of them struck June. She stumbled, fell, her shape sloughing

away as she did. For a second, barely a fraction of a second, Marcella saw the girl’s true form again—the auburn hair, the band of freckles—

and then that person was gone, replaced by a stranger, launching their body out of the line of fire.

“I told you—” started June.

“Not the time,” snapped Marcella, as a decanter nearby exploded into glassy shards. “Keep your eyes on me,” she ordered Jonathan. And then she turned, set down her glass of whiskey, and took up her gun.

The shots continued, a hail of fire that turned the air blue and white as Jonathan’s forcefield reflected every shot. Marcella moved with a careful, calculated grace, forcing herself not to flinch amid the onslaught. It was exhilarating, knowing that her life wasn’t, for the moment, in her own hands. Knowing that if Jonathan looked away, the shield would fall, and she’d be hit.

But sometimes, you had to have a little faith.

Marcella marched across the penthouse to the shattered floor-to-ceiling windows, the jagged rim of glass gaping open like a mouth. She touched the edge, and the remaining shards crumbled, crystals caught up and swept away by a gust of cold night air as Marcella stepped through the empty window, heels grinding on glass and sand and debris.

This, she thought, crossing the balcony, is why you don’t hide.