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approaches, silhouetted like an angel in the van’s blaring headlights. He tucks his gun away, lobbing me a smile. “Got your back as always.”
    I catch my breath. “As always, fearless leader.”
    I follow him to the waiting van. No longer fighting for my life, I notice the frigid air and the rough asphalt beneath my feet. Though I can block out these distractions, I’m grateful to climb inside. Less grateful that the van stinks of cherry cough drops and smoke, which must be due to the driver.
    â€œGo,” Cole tells the driver, and together we remove our earpieces. He pushes his laptop aside and wraps a blanket around me.
    While Cole checks the data I stole, I settle back in the seat and try to relax. Mission accomplished. Not perfectly, but I’m not a total failure. Yet though I physically warm up, mentally I remain chilled. That memory back in the stairwell—it was so vivid. So real.
    So wrong. I shouldn’t have experienced it, and the fear that runs down my spine is like melting snow.
    Melting snow slipping under the collar of my jacket as I stand outside a strange motel room…
    Shit. Did that actually happen?
    I close my eyes, relying on my perfect recall to replay snippets of the scene. I can smell the room’s stale air laced with an undercurrent of ancient cigarette smoke. My fingers curl as though holding the tweezers I used to remove Summer’s bullet. The night was quiet, sounds dampened by the remains of the blizzard.
    Somewhere in the present a horn honks, and I sigh. Through the van’s tinted windows, headlights flash by like fading ghosts. Our driver keeps checking on us in the rearview mirror. He’s one of ours, but a local. It’s questionable how much he’s been told about us, but I know he’s unaware of the mission specifics. Once we reach the drop-off point, I’ll probably never see him again, so I study his face while I can. I’ll remember it, and some day it might be important.
    Why?
    It’s an odd thought. Why will it be important? I can’t answer that question. I feel like I’m losing my mind, which is laughable under the circumstances. My mind’s already been lost. No, not lost. Stolen from me. I should let it go.
    Next to me, Cole brings up a video connection on the laptop. I rub my bare feet together, striving to warm them but also to release some of my tension.
    â€œMission accomplished, sir,” Cole says as the screen blinks to life with the image of a man. Gray touches his reddish hair. His face is narrow and his nose pointed, but his eyes are kind. “The files have been obtained. I just checked them.”
    â€œExcellent. And HY1-Seven?”
    I lean over so he can see me. “I’m here. We had some trouble.”
    Cole explains what happened, and I prepare for a rebuke that doesn’t come. “Have you requested a clean-up crew?” Malone asks him.
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œThen we’ll let them handle it. Well done, both of you.”
    How he can call this mission “well done” with a straight face is impressive. Yes, I obtained the files, but I made a mess of it. Malone doesn’t care about that though. That’s never been what this mission was about except in the most minor of senses. He wants those files, but mainly he wanted to test me.
    It’s less about whether I could get them. More about whether I’d hand them over if I did. Or whether I’d use the opportunity to escape and not bother with the mission at all.
    I can’t deny that part of me wanted to. When I looked out on the glittering city, so full of life and new experiences, I wanted desperately to be part of it. And when I had that memory pound me in the head in the stairwell, the sense of needing to run long and far took my breath away.
    I just don’t remember why I have the urge. The knowledge is gone, but some part of the emotion remains.
    â€œThese files are extremely