The wedding reception celebrating the marriage between Damien Fabre and Adelaide Roux is being held in a lavish outdoor garden at the Hotel Cygne de Paris. Fairy lights have been strung up all along the trellises and tree branches, illuminating the entire venue with a radiant glow. A full bar is set up at one end, underneath an archway made of roses woven together, and most of the guests are dancing in the middle of the garden or eating a slice of wedding cake at the patio tables. Several peacocks are strutting past a fountain underneath the watch of bodyguards stationed around the perimeter. The scent of lemon and mint permeates the air, the wind carrying with it the sounds of celebration and joy. In the near distance, the Arc de Triomphe is glowing in the night sky above Paris.

“What about it?” Jamie asks me, nodding at the bar. “I think we both need a drink.”

“Yes, please,” I say, following him through the guests on the dance floor. Everything is so fancy in here, the Parisian atmosphere so different from what I’m used to, that it almost feels as if I’ve been transported to another world entirely. Our clothes have completely dried off by now, and it no longer looks like we just escaped from an exploding plane. Jamie is still convinced that I’m defecting to his side, and I’ve done my best not to reveal otherwise, though I’m desperate for another message from Alpha.

He hands me a glass of champagne, keeping one for himself. “What’ll we toast to?”

I pretend to think for a moment, even though the answer is easy. “The future.”

Jamie grins and clinks his glass against mine. How can he not realize that I’m echoing his own words back to him? “To the future, then.”

“Jamison!” A man in a white tuxedo breaks away from a nearby group to come over to us. He has wavy dark hair tied back in a ponytail, and he’s wearing white gloves on his hands. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“As am I,” says Jamie, clasping the other man in a brief hug. “Damien, this is Lily.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say politely.

The two men are already turning the conversation toward Ophidian, discussing whether Jamie can still get enough votes to replace his father at the annual meeting. I down my glass of champagne and grab another from a passing server’s tray, barely listening to the details. I’m too antsy to stand still. Because we arrived so late, I don’t have much time until I need to find an excuse to leave before midnight.

“I’m so sorry, Lily,” Damien says after a while, turning to me. “I’m sure business isn’t what you had in mind when you agreed to visit Paris with my dear friend Jamison.”

“I’m just glad to be here,” I say, smiling. “How was the wedding?”

He laughs, a rich full sound. “It was fantastic. All my friends and family are here. I’ve never had such a beautiful time in my entire life. I could die like this, happy, surrounded by all the people who love me. Speaking of which...” Damien reaches out a hand and beckons someone over. “Adelaide!”

I turn to look at his fiancée, expecting to see a woman wearing an expensive wedding dress who looks like a model and appears to be in love with Damien Fabre. All of which is certainly true. But as Adelaide Roux glides over to us, I have to struggle not to react in shock.

Because approaching me is Juliet, my very own roommate.

“Welcome,” she says throatily, her eyes darting between me and Jamie. She’s wearing a swanlike wedding gown with feathery details that gracefully line her neck and arms, and her hands are covered by delicate lace gloves. “It’s so wonderful to meet some of Damien’s friends.”

This is where she’s been the past couple of weeks? I didn’t think my roommate was anywhere close to my mission. She and Damien have an intimate ease of physical closeness that only exists with long-term couples, and this doesn’t exactly seem like an elopement. They’re giving off every appearance of being happy newlyweds who’ve spent the past few months planning their perfect wedding.

Before we arrived, Jamie mentioned that Damien and Adelaide have been dating for two years. Two whole years. Two entire years in which this woman who calls herself Adelaide Roux has been living and sleeping in the same dorm as me, in which she never once said Damien’s name or let slip the fact that she was on a mission of this length and magnitude. Not to mention that she would have memorized the Executive’s files on every guest attending her wedding, including Jamison Hart.

And she never said a word to me about it.

How could I not have known about any of this? I’ve cleaned up her puke more times than I can count, and we cover for each other all the time. I’d thought she was in solitary confinement, or retired, or free of the Executive forever. Not here, in the midst of an extravagant wedding in Paris, on the arm of what can only be a target.

Juliet steps forward and kisses both my cheeks hastily. Her breath is reeking with alcohol. “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance.”

“And yours as well,” I say, careful to sound polite. I’m following her lead right now, because she’s an operative of the Executive and my own freaking roommate, but this feels all wrong. I can’t wrap my mind around the elaborate subterfuge that she must have gone through to maintain a long-distance relationship with Damien over the course of two years, all while still killing other targets and living at the Executive. All without me finding out a single thing about it, even when she was intoxicated. Is this why she’s wanted to run away? Is this why she’s been getting drunk whenever she has to sleep with a target?

Does she actually feel something for Damien Fabre?

“I’ve heard so much about you,” says Jamie, as she politely kisses his cheeks. “I wish you and Damien the best.”

“Ah, there’s Tristan!” Damien spots another guest and grips Jamie’s shoulder firmly. “Come, I’ll introduce you.”

Jamie shoots me an apologetic look, shrugging slightly as if to say, What can I do? I wave him off like I’m trying to be the cool girlfriend, but in reality my fingers are locked around my roommate’s wrist and I’m keeping her from leaving.

When we’re alone, I turn around with as much dignity as I can muster. Juliet is smoothing a wrinkle in her wedding dress, her gaze uneasy. I narrow my eyes, searching her face for any sign of dishonesty or betrayal, but there’s nothing at all to reveal her feelings. She looks exactly the same as how a new bride named Adelaide Roux would look if she was somewhat drunk and caught in an uncomfortable situation. That’s all.

“What are you doing here?” I say, keeping my voice low.

“I might as well ask you the same thing,” Juliet says through a forced smile, ripping her wrist from my grasp. She takes my elbow and leads me off to the side, away from the other guests. “Are you here to kill me?”

I stare at her, but she’s deadly serious. “Jamison Hart asked me to be his date. His plus-one canceled on him.”

“Canceled?” She lets out a scornful laugh. “No, Echo. She’s dead.”

“What?” I glance over at Jamie, who’s talking to Damien and a man who must be Tristan on the other side of the garden. The three of them are toasting fresh champagne glasses, laughing heartily. My target doesn’t look like someone whose plus-one just died before they were supposed to attend a wedding together.

“I had to do it,” says Juliet plaintively. “She recognized me at another wedding down in Sicily, even though I’d dyed my hair red and everything. I didn’t realize she was there. But she followed me and tried to spy on me, you know, to prove to Damien that I wasn’t being faithful. But she saw me killing my target. So then I had to kill her too.” She hiccups. “Kieran said I shouldn’t have done it. He said the Executive didn’t give you Adelaide Roux’s file because I’m about to be retired. But she would have ruined everything, Echo. So I had to. I had to.”

“Ruined what?” I resist the urge to shake her. “What are you talking about?”

Juliet leans in close to me. “There’s only one night in which Damien’s bodyguards wouldn’t expect him to leave his room or take any business calls at all.”

Her eyes are wide and teary, and I can see that she’s absolutely miserable. Two years is an incredibly long time to stay with a target. Even after just five minutes with Jamie, I found it difficult to kill him. The chemistry between an operative and a target has to be there, at least for the missions she and I receive, but there’s a fine line between it being something you can use and it turning into something that controls you.

Because my mission always ends with the first kiss, I’ve almost never gotten to that point. But Juliet?

She’s completely gone.

“I thought you were with Fox,” I say slowly.

No, there it is. I could see a flash of guilt in her eyes when I said his name. It’s an internal struggle that she’s become used to by now. Torn between a man in Mongoose and a target assigned to her by the Executive.

I can’t say it’s an entirely unfamiliar concept to me.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” she whispers desperately. “I don’t want to kill Damien...”

A loud clinking on a glass causes the entire garden to quiet down. Damien Fabre is lifting his champagne into the air, making a toast to his blushing bride. Adelaide Roux is already gliding over to his side, her lips curved into a loving smile. You’d never guess that only a moment ago, she was talking to me about how she’s supposed to kill him before the night is over.

As I sit down at a patio table covered in cocktails and half-eaten desserts, Jamie takes the seat next to me, his fingers gripping my knee.

“Tired already?” he says into my ear. “We still have a long night ahead of us.”

“Oh, I’m not tired at all.” I lean toward him as his hand slips up my dress and onto my bare thigh. “For Ophidian and anything else.”

His gaze shifts to my lips with interest. “Anything? That’s a dangerous proposition to make, Eliza.”

As far as he knows, my lips aren’t completely off-limits, just something that might be fun and dangerous in a sexy way. As long as we don’t let it get too far, of course. But he hasn’t guessed that even a second of contact will kill him.

“Not a proposition,” I breathe, sliding my own hand up his leg with slow, measured intent. “A promise—”

There’s a small crash and then a sudden silence, followed by a chorus of gasps and screams. I’m on my feet in an instant, scanning the garden to see what just happened. The guests are all staring at Damien Fabre, who’s dropped his champagne glass onto the ground. He’s convulsing where he stands, on the verge of collapsing. Beside him, Juliet is frozen in horror with her hands clasped over her mouth. Her eyes meet mine from across the garden and she gives the tiniest shake of her head.

Damien Fabre was just killed by someone.

It wasn’t her.