She curled her hand into a fist, so tight that the nails dug painfully into the flesh of her palm, but the pain was good: it kept her focused.

She thought of all the times Watt had seemed to watch her a little too closely, whenever anyone mentioned Eris. And he’d agreed to be her date to the Under the Sea party, and to rehab, so readily. She hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but it was strange, wasn’t it, that he hadn’t put up any sort of a fight? Could he have actually been playing her the whole time—getting close to her in the hopes that something like this would happen, that Leda would eventually get drunk and trusting, and admit the truth?

Leda reached up to wipe away a tear. She shouldn’t really be surprised. But it hurt more than she would have guessed, realizing that all time they’d spent together had been a lie.

How stupid of her, to think that Watt could care about her for real. She didn’t even blame him for wanting revenge. She would have done the same, if their roles were reversed. Hadn’t she said more than once that she and Watt were cut from the same cloth?

An old familiar instinct for self-preservation was stirring, urging her to fight fire with fire—to use every weapon in her arsenal to destroy Watt, before he could destroy her—but Leda found that she didn’t have the heart. Besides, with that quant in his brain he’d probably already sent her confession video to the police. They might be coming for her right now.

Leda felt a heavy dullness settling over her, turning her entire body to lead. Perhaps it was resignation. Or despair. Leda Cole had never been resigned to anything before, but then, she’d never met anyone who could best her, until Watt.

To think that she’d found the one boy in the world who was her equal, and fallen for him; yet in typical Leda Cole fashion, she’d managed to make him her sworn enemy.

She got up and trudged toward the nearest bar—a lonely table set up among the lemon trees near the edge of the garden path. It was so remote from the party that it felt as if someone, maybe providence, had brought it here in her hour of need. She might be heading to prison tomorrow, after all. Might as well enjoy her last few hours as a free woman.

“Whiskey soda,” Leda said automatically as she approached. “And another after that.”

The bartender looked up at her, and for some reason Leda’s brain sparked in recognition. “Have we met?” she asked.

The girl shrugged. “I work at Altitude. My name’s Mariel.” She began to mix the cocktail with quick, practiced motions.

“And now you’re here?” Leda was still confused.

“The Fullers imported some of the Altitude staff to work this party. Pretty over-the-top, huh?”

“Oh.” Leda hadn’t heard about that, but it sounded like the Fullers.

“Are you here alone?” The other girl slid the drink across the bar with a raised eyebrow.

“At the moment, yes.” Leda frowned down at the glass, which was a dark, opaque black. “This cup is seriously morbid,” she pointed out. It looked like a goblet that lost souls would drink from in hell. As black as all her secrets, she thought, taking a gulp. The whiskey had an astringent bite she didn’t recognize.

“Sorry. All they gave me was black and white.” Mariel pulled out a white glass, but Leda shook her head; it wasn’t worth the bother. “Well, Leda, no one should drink alone at a party like this,” Mariel insisted, and fixed a drink for herself.

Had she told this girl her name? Leda startled, a little confused. The whiskey was hitting her faster than she thought. She felt a little like she was going to be sick, but she couldn’t decide whether that was the drink, or the thought of her confession video playing on all the global newsfeeds.

For a moment, Leda thought she caught a glimpse of something eager and intent in Mariel’s gaze. It puzzled her. She set down her half-empty drink to look up at the sky. It glowed with stars, scattered about like tiny pinpricks of something fervent and bright. Hope, maybe.

But Leda knew there was no hope for her. She picked up the black goblet and braced herself for another sip of the biting whiskey, hoping it would obliterate the pain of what Watt had done.

AVERY

AVERY HURRIED, BREATHLESS, toward the pulsing star in her field of vision that was leading her to Atlas. Thank god he’d never turned off location sharing, even after everything they’d said to each other. She made her way through crowds draped all in black and white; the only spots of color their paintsticked faces, a discordant blur against the darkness. Avery pushed past all of it, heading toward that pulsing light as if it were her own personal North Star leading her home.

She turned a corner and saw with relief that yes, he was right there, beneath the shining yellow star inscribed on her contacts. He was frowning slightly, deep in conversation with their father and a group of investors. Avery reached up to smooth her hair, adjust the fine lace at her neckline, before venturing over.

“Atlas. I need to talk to you.” She saw her dad flinch a little at the request, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered, as long as she and Atlas had each other.

His eyes swept toward her for a moment, then away. “We’re kind of busy right now.”

The dismissal hurt, but she let it go. “Please.”

Atlas wavered for a moment, then gave some excuse to the group and followed her a distance away. “What’s going on?” he hissed, but she didn’t answer, just led him determinedly downward, to lower and still lower terraces, until they were at a gateway marked NO ACCESS. She pushed it open and dragged Atlas onto the small, grim, dingy balcony behind it, crowded with machinery and jutting directly over the canal. The rush of water beneath them was loud in her ears.

“Think we’re far enough yet?” Atlas demanded sarcastically.

She hated how hostile he sounded—not like Atlas at all, but some stranger inhabiting his body. Ignoring the question, Avery grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him roughly down to kiss him.

He was still her Atlas, she saw with relief: same mouth, same hands, same shoulders as ever. She slid her hands over those shoulders to twine up in his hair, at the back of his neck where it curled, just a little. I love you so much, and I’m sorry.

Atlas pulled away, shaking his head. “This isn’t fair,” he said, his voice only a little shaky. “You can’t be furious with me for weeks and then just decide to kiss me here, at the most crowded party of our lives.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“What’s going on with you, Avery? What happened to prompt … this?” Atlas made an impatient gesture, taking in her mutilated dress, her tangled hair. The kiss.

She told herself not to panic that he’d called her Avery and not Aves. “There’s something you need to know about Calliope. She’s not what she seems.” That sounded a bit theatrical, so she tried again. “She’s a fraud, Atlas—she’s been lying to you this whole time, playing you. She doesn’t even like you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She and her mom are …” She fumbled for the right word. Con artists sounded like something out of a bad holo. “Operators. They use people for their money, then move on to a new place, with a new identity.”

Carefully, haltingly, Avery explained the whole thing. She told Atlas about Calliope’s various aliases, her mom’s arrest record; she sent him the pics that Leda had found, of all their many identities. Through it all he just nodded silently, scarcely blinking.

“Shit,” Atlas muttered when she finally fell silent. He shook his head in disbelief, his brown eyes glazed over.

“I know. I’m so sorry.” She wasn’t really, though. She wanted Calliope gone, and Atlas back, and the world restored to its rightful order.

“How did you learn all this?”

Avery reached for his hand, lacing his fingers in hers. “I just did. I can’t explain, but I promise it’s all true.”

A murmured cry rose up from the crowds above them as another round of fireworks began to launch. Avery didn’t glance away from Atlas’s face. He was very quiet, thinking everything over. He seemed lost in a world of his own making.