A whistle breaks my concentration. My next punch glances off the side of the punching bag with barely enough force to move it. I turn around to see Romeo standing at the edge of the mat, clapping so slowly that it’s almost condescending how obvious he thinks his sarcasm needs to be before I get it.

“Go away,” I say, making my voice as caustic as possible. He’d better get the hint, or else I’m going to start punching something that isn’t an inanimate object. I turn around and hit the punching bag again, square in the middle this time.

Now I am imagining his face after all.

“We’ve got to work on our cover story,” Reese says from behind me, unfazed. “Alpha said I could find you here.”

I pause for a moment, feeling a mixture of unsteadiness and confusion. This definitely isn’t a routine punching session for me, which means August must have seen me from the doorway and left again without saying anything. Normally when my partner sees me like this, he just comes in here and steadies the punching bag for a while before saying, Finished? And I nod, and then later we hang out in his dorm, sitting on opposite sides of his bed, while he reads out loud from whatever superhero comic we’re going through at the time.

Over the years, I’ve come to understand that we like the comic books for different reasons. August appreciates the reminder that aberrants can be good, that we can help people without killing anyone. Because even though we serve the nation by closing mission after mission, it’s really hard sometimes to feel like we’re the good guys. It’s possible to run away, of course, but no one ever tries. You’d have to leave everyone and everything you’ve ever known and never see them again. So for most of us, it’s easier to stick with the Executive until retirement.

I tell myself retirement doesn’t always mean death.

For me, at least, the comic books serve as reassurance that aberrants can still have friends and lovers. If I was in one of those stories, I’d have to be a supervillain, because poisoned lips aren’t ever going to be the key to saving the world. But even the supervillains in comic books have partners and sidekicks and admirers. I might even get to be part of an evil team that hangs out all the time.

So the fact that August saw me in the training gym, but didn’t come in here to steady the punching bag and ask if I was finished, makes me feel incredibly unsettled. Instead of reading a comic book to me, my partner left and told someone else I was in here. Is he actually avoiding me?

The thought doesn’t improve my mood whatsoever.

“I said, go away—” I start again.

A hand grips my shoulder, spinning me around. Reese has moved closer to me, his gray eyes narrowed in annoyance. “It’s not like I want to be in this godforsaken country either. I mean, just look at the awful state of your healthcare. Heaven forbid I suffer an injury while I’m here. But your Executive is missing a Romeo, and Mellie Hart has been a target for quite some time, so we’ve been ordered to cooperate by our handlers. I’d hoped you could be professional about all this.”

I fold my arms across my chest, feeling skeptical. “And what about the roof, then? You were practically begging me for a kiss at the Woodland Castle. Did that seem professional to you?”

He gives me an amused smirk. “Believe me, if I wanted a kiss from you, I wouldn’t have to beg. I’ve read your file, Eliza. Your lips are poisoned, which means you can’t even give someone a peck on the cheek. Aren’t you curious about what it’s like? To kiss someone without the knowledge of impending death?” His gaze lingers on my lips. “Well?”

I flush, glancing away. “As if I would ever let you touch me.”

“Well, looks like you’re going to have to,” he says. “It’s our cover story.”

“Forget it,” I snap. “It’s just a date. I don’t have to kiss you.”

He appraises my expression for a moment, then shrugs. “All right, if that’s what you want.”

So we’re being professional after all. I lower my arms, breathing an internal sigh of relief. I didn’t need to worry about him overstepping my boundaries on top of everything else. My emotions are already giving me more than enough trouble with this mission.

But just as I start to let my guard down, he throws a punch at me.

I instinctively fling my hands upward, blocking his attack easily. But the skin-on-skin contact feels like electricity, shocking me to the core, and I can’t even think for a moment. As if my body is moving of its own volition, I find myself throwing a punch back. He blocks it instantly, and I manage to dodge the next punch he throws. And then, back and forth, we spar with each other across the mat.

But after a while, I can tell that Reese is holding himself back. If he wanted to, he could have me on the ground in an instant. He’s toying with me, proving that he can get me to touch him whenever he wants. I can’t decide if it’s unprofessional, or if it’s actually completely professional because it forces me to agree to work with him in the way we’re supposed to. But I can’t take it anymore.

After sidestepping the next punch, I tackle him to the mat, jamming my forearm against his throat, my face inches from his.

“Stop. Trying. To. Hit. Me.”

But I can see the smug look on Reese’s face. He wanted this as well. He wanted to goad me into taking him down and putting us in close quarters, wanted our bodies to come into physical contact. He’s not being professional at all, and I’m pretty sure he’s hoping that I just go ahead and kiss him to get it over with.

Do I even want to be this close to him?

Yes.

No.

Yes.

I haven’t been this close to anyone who wasn’t a target in forever.

A movement in the corner of my eye makes me glance up. Alpha is standing in the doorway of the training gym with several files in his hand. I freeze where I am, all too aware of the fact that I’m straddling Romeo, who’s still smirking underneath me. But I can’t tell what my partner is thinking. Is he remembering where I learned how to do all this? The hours we spent in here, me and him, attacking and defending against each other, until I could confidently take him down to the mat even when he wasn’t holding back?

Maybe he returned to steady the punching bag after all.

Freaking hell.

Still expressionless, August walks over and sets down the files beside us. “Agent Novenine asked me to leave these with you.”

And then, without another word, he’s gone.

I push myself off Reese hastily, even though it’s too late. He’s watching me with a raised eyebrow, but there’s nothing in his expression to indicate what he’s thinking. I try to rearrange my face into what I can only hope is a neutral look.

“What?” I ask defensively.

“All right, then,” he says. “Perhaps we’ve taken this too far. Truce?”

I shrug. “Anything that gets you out of the country faster.”

A few minutes later, we’re sitting on the mat, the files spread out between us, detailing the plan for the sailing race. Jamison Hart has never been close to his stepmother, who’s on the verge of divorcing his father. It won’t be difficult for me to flirt with my target while Romeo, disguised as Lawrence Fisher, charms Mellie Hart. After she dies, I’ll comfort Jamie at her funeral and secure an invite to Damien Fabre’s wedding. The youngest Hart in the family will have a funeral of his own soon thereafter.

I’m careful throughout the entire session to say Jamison Hart instead of Jamie.

By the end, we’re able to remember each other’s cover stories and plans. We can at least pretend to have an easy, flirtatious banter. And when Romeo wraps his hand around mine, I can tell myself that I don’t feel an electric shock, and I can almost believe that I’m not lying.

I tighten my fingers around his and lean forward, smiling warmly. “What a wonderful afternoon, Lawrence.”

Reese glances down at me, momentarily caught off guard. His smugness slips for a heartbeat and I can see it behind his eyes. For a second there, he believed me. He actually believed that I was Lily and he was Lawrence and we were on the verge of falling in love. Got you, Romeo, I think.

But then his features rearrange again into a casual smirk. “So that’s why you’re an Echo.”

“What?” I ask, briefly thrown off.

“The whole ‘girl next door who’s secretly a sex bomb’ thing,” he says. “I get it now.”

I yank my fingers away, flushing, ignoring the fact that my hand already wants back in his again. Shut up, hand.

“Too bad the whole asshole thing doesn’t work for you,” I snap.

Romeo’s expression changes instantly. His face takes on a look of genuine interest, his eyes flashing with deep compassion. He tilts my chin upward and brushes his thumb across my lower lip, the mere touch causing sparks to fly beneath my skin, oh no, too much like fireworks. Is this what it feels like? To know there’s only opportunity in the future, and not just a dead end?

“That’s because I reserve the whole asshole thing for people who don’t want me,” he murmurs. “You’re the only person who could want me, and I’m the only person who could want you. And yet you’re fighting against the urge to want me. Why is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask, struggling to remain calm. “I could never want an asshole.”

Reese grins, returning to his smug self. “Well, then we’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?”

As he gets up and leaves the training gym, I remain sitting on the mat without moving, my skin aching from the loss of human touch. I can’t believe I’m feeling this way, but I want to feel him again. My skin wants more. My body wants more. Even my lower lip wants more.

But I can’t stand talking to Romeo for more than a few minutes. His smugness, the constant smirks, his obvious amusement... They all make me feel like I’m a pretty toy instead of someone he’s taking seriously. And now he’s trying to play hard to get, moving on to the next stage of whatever grand plan he has to make me want to kiss him? Please.

Two can play at that game.