“Relax?” Ally straddled his legs and pushed him backwards onto the mattress. “Is that what you’re calling it now?”

“I’ll call it anything you want.”

He pulled her toward him, but she slipped out of his arms, rolled away, and clambered to her feet. She wished she could hide in bed with Tom, close her eyes, and forget about the world outside.

“Come back here,” he said. “Lie down.”

He looked at her, and her secrets lined up at the back of her throat, ready to leap out her mouth. She turned away and rummaged in the wardrobe again. Rania and Huda were right—she shouldn’t tell Tom. Then if anything went wrong, he could truthfully tell the ambassador he hadn’t known about their plan.

You can tell him all you want, as soon as everyone is safe, Huda had said. Is it really lying, if you’re honest in the end?

As Ally pretended to search her dresser drawers, she wondered if Huda had always had such an elastic take on the truth, or was it the sort of motto that informants learned on the job? Did she repeat it in her head each time she invited Ally for a cup of coffee and a chat? When she said their friendship was real, was that another lie? Or was she just doing what was needed to survive?

“I admit, I’m glad you’re getting out of Baghdad,” said Tom. “But I didn’t think it would be this sudden.”

Ally gripped the edge of the dresser. He was too hard to resist, sprawled on the mattress, hand extended to her. Her body swayed toward him like the tide.

“Let’s go for a walk.” She retreated to the door. “I’ve been packing all day. I need to get out and clear my head.”

Another lie. She didn’t want to clear her head. She wanted to stuff it full of honking cars, and amber traffic signals flashing on and off. She wanted to replace all those clamoring secrets with carpet sellers offering tea, men playing backgammon outside the coffee shops, and boys riding donkey carts. She wanted sound, and light, and distractions. Anything but her and Tom, alone, with her lies on the tip of her tongue.

Out in the street, Tom took her hand and guided her past a pothole. It was still busy, and every minute or so a taxi driver slowed, tapped his horn, and called for them to get in. Ally scanned the sidewalk for Mohammad, but there was no sign of the little boy.

“You know the newspaper vendor and her son?” She clutched Tom’s hand tight. “Will you drop some food off for them while I’m gone? Promise me you won’t forget.”

“Okay, I promise.” Tom laughed. “I think you’re going to miss your little friend more than me.”