“Yes, poor Nadia—” Leda said meaningfully, but Watt ignored the veiled threat.

“—she was addicted to xenperheidren, alcohol, attention, you name it. Leda was an incredible role model for her because, of course, Leda has been addicted to all those things at some point.”

“And how is your sister now?” Dr. Reasoner asked, her face lined with well-bred concern.

“Oh, she died,” Watt said flippantly, and shot Leda a satisfied look, as if she should be proud of him for remembering. She looked like she wanted to strangle him with her bare hands.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. I wish we could have treated her here,” the doctor managed, clearly taken aback. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and turned to Leda. “Leda, have you felt any addictive tendencies in the last few months?”

“No,” Leda said quickly.

“Not for drugs or alcohol, at any rate,” Watt interrupted, with an exaggerated wink.

“Well. I’d like to go over our recommended follow-up for treatment.” The doctor faltered, her eyes rapidly dilating and contracting as she looked at two different versions of something. “I guess we’ll use the partner’s plan, instead of the parent—though, Leda, I still think your mom will want to see—”

“Of course we should use the partner’s plan. I’m not going anywhere,” Watt promised, watching in unabashed delight as Leda gritted her teeth and nodded.

Later that night, Watt lay in the oversized king bed in his Mexican-inspired casita, a superfluity of pillows piled around him like whipped frosting. He was, honestly, confused to be in bed alone. Not that he really wanted to hook up with Leda, he told himself. But why didn’t she want to hook up with him?

He’d been so sure that they would end up together tonight. After that hilarious farce of a check-in, which Leda had accused him of sabotaging—“Are you kidding? I saved it,” he’d boasted—they’d declined the optional-but-clearly-encouraged share circle and eaten dinner in the cafeteria. Then they’d gone to Watt’s room to watch a silly kids’ holo about a cartoon donkey. They’d been sitting on the couch, not the bed, with plenty of distance between them; yet they’d been laughing with such ease that for once, Leda had seemed genuinely relaxed.

He’d been shocked when the holo ended and Leda said good night, then stood up and just walked out the door. Now here he was, alone in the most luxurious bedroom he’d ever set foot in, utterly bewildered.

“Nadia. What do you think Leda really wanted, bringing me all the way here?” he mused aloud.

“I would have called this a statistical anomaly, except there are no statistics,” Nadia replied. “I’m glad, at least, that you seemed to have fun.” She said that last bit a little huffily, as if this weren’t an appropriate time for fun.

A bloodcurdling scream sounded through the wall, from Leda’s room.

“Nadia, is she okay?” Watt cried out, sliding out of bed and stumbling forward.

“There isn’t a feed in her room,” Nadia replied, but Watt had already run barefoot onto Leda’s front step and started pounding at the door. An instant later the bolt slid open as Nadia infiltrated the rehab center’s system and granted Watt access.

Leda was twisted in a knot of sheets, her eyes closed, her mouth contorted in a grimace. She was screaming—a primal, otherworldly cry that made Watt want to cover his ears and back away. Instead he hurried forward to grab Leda’s hands, which were clawing frantically at the covers.

“Leda, it’s okay, you’re safe. I’m here,” he kept saying, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of her wrists.

Eventually the screams became moans, and died down, and then Leda grew still. Her eyes fluttered slowly, her lashes thick and damp against her cheeks. “Watt?” she asked drowsily, as if she didn’t understand why he was there.

Watt wasn’t sure either. He quickly let go of her hands.

“You were screaming,” he said helplessly. “It sounded terrible, like you were being tortured. I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Yeah, right. You would rejoice if I was tortured,” Leda croaked. She sat up and tucked her hair behind her ears with a quick gesture. Watt saw that she was wearing a white silk nightgown. It would have been almost girlish, except that it clung so suggestively to the contours of her body. He averted his eyes.

“Normally, yeah, but I need to make that flight home tomorrow, and I’m not sure I can return without you.” Watt realized he was babbling. There was a strange pressure on his chest. He took another step back. “Sorry, I’ll let you get some sleep.”

“Please don’t go,” Leda said quickly, her eyes wide. She swallowed. “The nightmares … Please, just stay until I fall asleep.”

In that moment she didn’t look anything like Watt’s enemy, like the bitter, hard-edged girl who had threatened and coerced him. The girl in this bed was a stranger, who looked young and lost and achingly lonely.

Watt started to pull up a chair next to the bed, then hesitated. Sitting in a chair next to Leda’s bed felt somehow strange, as if she were sick in a hospital. Which, he realized, might have been how she’d ended up in this place to begin with.

His eyes met Leda’s, and she inclined her head ever so slightly in understanding, wordlessly shifting to create space for him.

Leda was very still, and very small, as Watt slid into the bed and curled around her. He listened to the ragged rise and fall of her breath. There was an excited nervousness spiking up and down her body, and Watt knew that he was the cause of it, and he realized he was glad.

She turned around to face him, so they were both lying on their sides, twin silhouettes in the darkness. The only thing that separated them was a shaft of moonlight slicing through the open window. Still, Watt waited. He refused to do this unless the first move came from her, no matter how crazy it was, no matter how crazy he was for wanting it.

Leda lifted her chin and planted a kiss on his lips, tentative, feather light.

Then she pulled back. “This still doesn’t mean anything, okay?” she whispered, and even though he couldn’t make out her expression, Watt could picture it—her brow furrowed in stubborn determination, and fierce pride.

“Of course. It means nothing,” Watt agreed, knowing full well that they were trading lies.

CALLIOPE

CALLIOPE STOOD AT the base of the Tower’s famous climbing wall, an enormous vertical structure that began on the 620th floor and spanned almost thirty floors upward, along the Tower’s north interior. She glanced at the clock that glowed constantly in the top left corner of her vision: she never turned it off, preferring to give a minimum of verbal commands to her contacts. There was nothing romantic about muttering “clock” during a flirtation.

Almost five p.m. Calliope tried to resign herself to the fact that Atlas wasn’t coming. When she’d casually flickered him this afternoon to let him know that she was climbing, she’d thought it was a brilliant plan. She remembered how much Atlas loved rock climbing—or at least, he used to. But she was starting to realize that New York Atlas had less in common with Tanzania “Travis” than she’d expected.

She adjusted her aeroharness and brushed her hands together before reaching for the first handhold, then the second. It might clear her head, climbing alone for a while.

“Starting without me, Callie?”

Calliope closed her eyes, allowing herself a brief self-satisfied grin. She stayed clasped where she was on the wall, only a few meters above Atlas, arching her back just so as she looked down at him. “I’m glad you made it,” she called out.

Atlas smiled in that lopsided way of his, lifting only one corner of his mouth, as if he hadn’t fully committed to the decision to smile. He stepped into an aeroharness and lifted a strap over one broad shoulder. “Sorry, it wasn’t easy for me to escape work.”

Calliope let go of the wall and the aeroharness caught her just a few centimeters into the fall, suspending her in midair. She pushed the soles of her shoes against the wall and spun lazily about, her black artech pants showing off her long, lithe form. “Your boss sounds unnecessarily strict, given that he’s your dad,” she pointed out.