“I can see why. That boy is almost too gorgeous to con.”

It was a moment before Calliope realized her mom meant Brice Anderton. “Oh, I just used Brice for an invite to the party. He’s not connable,” she said quickly, knowing that Elise wouldn’t push it. “No, I’m targeting a different boy. He’s the one I went home with.” She looked down at her hands, nervously slicing a cucumber sandwich into tiny triangles. Her mom always seemed to understand what other people were thinking, what they wanted. Maybe she would have some insight into Atlas. “Actually, I could use your advice,” Calliope admitted.

Elise leaned forward eagerly. “What else are moms for?”

Calliope told her everything. About how she’d recognized Atlas at the Fullers’ cocktail party and staged a run-in with him at the Nuage pool, then accepted Brice’s invitation to the Hudson Conservancy Ball knowing that Atlas would be at the same party. How she’d gone home with Atlas—proving, once and for all, her conviction that he did want her—only to realize that maybe she’d been wrong.

“Let me get this straight,” Elise said, reaching for a bite of scone. Tiny sugar-flecked pieces crumbled down, sparkling like scattered gems against the china plate. “You met this boy in Africa?”

Calliope nodded. “But then he left me one day, with no explanation. I never told you, because—”

“It’s all right,” Elise said quickly. They didn’t talk much about that con in India, the worst one they’d ever done. Elise had gotten involved with an older gentleman who worked in the government, and solicited a donation to a fake charity organization, but then the old man had died, all of a sudden, under mysterious circumstances. Suddenly the country’s entire police force had been after them. It had been so terrifying that Calliope and Elise had split up as they fled the country. Just in case.

“I just didn’t realize you ran a con in Africa,” her mom went on, sounding a little hurt.

“It doesn’t matter, because it didn’t work.”

“Yet. It didn’t work yet,” Elise corrected. She gave a narrow smile, her eyes glinting like a cat’s. “It’s a longer con than you’d expected, but who cares? You can afford to play a long game.”

“Not too long. He’s moving away soon.” It was less than a month before Atlas went to Dubai, to run his dad’s tower there. She had to get something from him before that happened.

“Well, don’t worry if it doesn’t work out. I’ll get enough for the both of us,” Elise promised, and sighed. “You did say this boy comes from money, right?”

“He’s Atlas Fuller.” Hadn’t Calliope said that already? “That cocktail party was at his family’s apartment.”

Elise froze like a character in a holo game, an iced cake lifted halfway to her lips. The only movement was the slow, stunned blink of her gold-shadowed eyes. For a moment Calliope worried she’d gone too far—that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, trying to con the boy whose family literally lived on top of the world.

But then Elise was laughing, so hard that tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Seeing it made Calliope laugh too. “The thousandth floor! Let it never be said that you don’t aim high. Cheers to that.” Elise clinked their water glasses with renewed purpose.

“What can I say, I have expensive taste,” Calliope conceded with a smile.

Her mom was right; Calliope was a pro, and she always landed her mark in the end. She would land Atlas too, no matter how long it took.

The waitress came over to collect their tea tray, scattered with smears of butter and half-eaten tarts. In a flash of insight Calliope knew who the waitress had reminded her of: Daera, her childhood friend. She had the same chestnut hair and wide-set eyes.

She wondered what Daera was up to now, all these years later.

“Do you want to get the check this time, or should I?” Elise asked.

“We can’t pay with the bitbanc money? I thought our last payout was a big one.” Surely they hadn’t spent all that money so fast. The thought of doing one of their tricks right now felt strangely wearying.

Elise shrugged. “We blew through most of that money on our girls’ week in Monaco.” Calliope cringed at the thought of that extravagant trip, with shopping sprees and decadent hotels and a boat they’d rented on a whim. Maybe they should have been a little more responsible. “I’m trying to save the rest for our tickets out of here,” her mom added. “But don’t worry, I’ll get our tea.”

She glanced around, then reached over to yank out a few of Calliope’s hairs.

“Hey—ow!” Calliope cursed. She wanted to clap a hand to her head, but she knew it would ruin the con. “You didn’t bring anything with you?” she hissed, under her breath.

“Sorry. I’d use mine, but they aren’t nearly dark enough to pass for the waitress’s.” Elise started to place the hairs on a plate, then thought better of it, and curled them in the bottom of the teacup. She leaned back, draping a pale arm carelessly over the back of the chair as she took a sip of the previously untouched tea.

An instant later she let out an affected shriek, a hand lifted to her chest. Heads swiveled automatically in their direction. The waitress who looked like a grown-up version of Daera hurried over.

“Oh my god. There’s hair in my tea!” Elise cried out, her tone dripping with revulsion. Her eyes lifted accusatorily to the waitress. “You shed into my tea!”

More glances kept shooting their way. New Yorkers did love drama, Calliope reflected, as long as they weren’t the ones causing a scene.

“I’m so s-sorry,” the waitress stammered, reaching up hesitantly toward the crown of her head as if to confirm that her hair was up in a slick, high ponytail. Her expression was one of unmasked fear.

During the ensuing familiar hubbub of calling a manager, complaining, getting their meal comped, Calliope said nothing. She found herself wondering what would happen to the waitress when this was all over. Probably she would have her wages docked for the amount of their tea, Calliope thought, shifting a little in her chair. Surely she wouldn’t be fired, right?

“You okay?” Elise asked when it was all over and they stepped into the elevator back up to their suite. “You look pale.”

“I think I ate too much sugar.” Calliope put a hand on her stomach, which was, in fact, aching. “I’ll be fine.”

But as the doors closed, revealing the gleaming mirrored interior of the Nuage’s elevator, Calliope looked down at her hands clasped tight around the handle of her purse. For once, she didn’t really feel like admiring her own reflection.

AVERY

AVERY LAY ON her bed, staring up at the delicate clouds that floated across her ceiling without seeing them. It had been several days since she’d come home to find Calliope in the kitchen, wearing Atlas’s boxers, though she wouldn’t ever forget the image. It was burned into her mind with such searing clarity.

She and Atlas hadn’t spoken since that morning. She hadn’t even seen him in the apartment: they’d both made themselves scarce lately, as if they’d agreed to some mutual, temporary cease-fire.

Somehow Avery had managed to hold it together at school. But every night she’d collapsed into her champagne-colored lace pillows and let herself erupt in hot, bitter tears.

“Avery?”

She shouldn’t have been surprised that he was knocking on her door, but still, it took a moment for Avery to process what was happening. She’d been longing for this conversation, yet she’d been dreading it too.

“Unlock,” she muttered, standing up as the room comp released the magnetic block-field from over her door.

Atlas stood there. He looked different; there were circles around his eyes and a pallor to his skin, but it was more than that. Something had fundamentally changed about him, as if he was no longer the boy Avery thought he was.

“Hey,” she said simply. Let him give the next syllable; that was all she had to offer right now.

“Hey,” Atlas echoed. His eyes searched hers, but she just returned his stare, cool and level. “Look, can I come in?” he asked.