22. Hiding in Plain Sight

At least one thing was going their way today: only a lone receptionist sat behind the tiny hotel's check-in counter, her feet propped up on a chair and her nose buried in a magazine.

Good,Winter thought as he stepped inside the hotel's lobby by himself, his hands in his pockets and his walk a graceful, carefully practiced stroll that everyone always seemed to comment on whenever he was photographed. His boots clicked sharply against the linoleum floors.

Somewhere in the back hall of the hotel were Sydney and Tems, listening carefully for Winter's conversation and waiting for the right time to sneak up the stairs.

The girl didn't bother looking up from her magazine as he approached the counter. She just muttered, "Two hundred sing a night."

Winter cleared his throat politely and tried to sound lighthearted. "That sounds perfect," he said, taking out his wallet. "I don't have change, though. Can you break a one-thousand sing note?"

The girl let out a sigh, muttered something under her breath about change and discontinued bills, and straightened from her chair, her head still buried in her magazine. "How many nights?" she asked.

"Just one," he said.

At last, she glanced up reluctantly at him. "Your ID—" she started to say.

Her words died on her tongue as her eyes settled on his face.

She seemed confused for a second, blinking rapidly—and then her eyes widened into round discs. Her mouth opened in a wide O.

Winter held up his hands. "Please don't scream," he said in a hushed voice. "I'm trying not to draw a mob in here."

She bobbed her head, her face still in shock. Her hands came up nervously to smooth her hair down. "Yes, yes, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "It's—you're—are you really Winter Young?"

He gave her an apologetic smile. His eyes darted to her name tag. "Miss Goh, if you could keep my location quiet, I won't stir up any chaos in your hotel. There's been a lockdown at the airport—"

"Yes," she said in a breathless rush. "I just heard on the news."

"I'll take two rooms, then, for my team. We're trying to figure out our transport in the morning."

She jumped as if scalded by hot water. "Right! Of course!" She shook her head, embarrassed at herself, and began scrambling for keys. While she prepared them, Winter saw her gaze hop over his shoulder, momentarily distracted by a movement.

Winter casually shifted to see the shadow of Tems pass by the open door through the stairwell hall. He moved without a sound and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Winter turned back to the girl, who seemed to have already shrugged off the coming and going of what she must have thought were other guests of the hotel. Her eyes were back on him, shining and bright, and he returned her smile, bringing forth all of the charm that he doled out whenever he did meets with his fans. She handed him two sets of keys.

"I can't tell you what a huge help this is. Thanks for our secret." He gave her a small smile, and to his satisfaction, she beamed in response. A mutual secret between them—it might be enough to keep her from telling anyone they were here.

He headed toward the stairs. As he started climbing up, he saw the girl staring after him, still standing, looking around as if she wasn't sure how to process what had just happened.

Please keep our secret,Winter thought as he leapt up the stairs. As he went, he sent Sydney a quick message.

306. 335.

By the time he arrived at the third floor, Sydney and Tems were already there, waiting in front of the room's door. He swiped the key against the lock, and the three of them disappeared inside.

Winter gazed around. It was as simple a hotel room as there could be—he couldn't remember the last time he'd stayed in one like this. Maybe back when his mother had first divorced his father and they'd moved into an apartment that wasn't ready for a couple of weeks. Somehow, the stale smell of the carpet brought that memory back in full, and for a second, he felt like a child again, unmoored and lost.

As Sydney settled against the bed and Tems went to shut the blinds on the window, Winter tried calling Claire again. Again, his call failed to connect. Outside their window, they could hear the commotion of the street increasing as evening settled in thickly, the sounds of street hawkers their wares mixed with the putter of motorcycles.

It sounded as if everything was fine, like everyone was moving forward. As if their world wasn't crumbling around them.

"Still no word from the CIA," Tems muttered as he returned from the window. "Even they're blocked from making transmissions out."

Sydney shook her head. "Keep trying."

"Will do," Tems said. He nodded at the door. "I'll take 306. I'll keep an eye on the front street."

"We'll keep an eye on the back alley," Sydney replied.

They spoke as if on autopilot, unthinking. If Winter didn't dwell too hard on it, he could pretend this was a prep night before a big concert day, could fool himself into believing that they were just working on any other project. He could tell himself that he wasn't on the run with Sydney and her fellow agent, that not everything that could have gone wrong did.

Sydney rubbed her eyes. She looked more exhausted than Winter had ever seen her. "Whoever killed Niall is likely the same group that has been targeting you and me," she said to Tems.

"Seah was my key suspect," Tems replied darkly. "Apparently he was only part of the story."

Winter shuddered at the memory of Sydney's attacker at the airport. The walls around them felt like they were closing in. "Who else would want you all dead?"

"Whoever targeted the president," Sydney muttered, "must have known that Panacea was behind this effort to protect Rosen." She looked at Tems. "We should have gotten you out of the country when we first arrived."

At that, Tems narrowed his eyes at Sydney. "Are you saying this is my fault?"

"I'm saying Niall might be alive if we hadn't changed his plans."

"Niall would have come here," Tems snapped, "whether you changed your plans or not. Have you already forgotten that someone was targeting you the instant you and Winter landed in this country? You were all wrapped up in this."

"Niall was a seasoned agent," Sydney said. "To catch him off guard like that isn't normal. Nothing about this mission is normal."

"Give me an example of a normal mission," Tems said. "Or have all your missions been textbook? Because this isn't the first time mine have gone wrong."

"This is the first time I've lost someone," Sydney said.

"You're lucky, then," Tems snapped. "Because it's certainly not mine."

There was a hollowness in his eyes that struck Winter, a flash of fury that brought his brother back into his memory with startling clarity. Suddenly, he saw his brother sitting here with his arms outstretched, his expression a cloud of frustration. Winter had only ever seen him like that once, two days after he'd returned from one of his trips: Winter had complained about something silly, asked his brother why he couldn't come along to an audition. Artie had exploded in return, had asked him why he couldn't do anything without Artie beside him, why he had to rely on him so much.

I'm sorry,Artie had said to him later that night. He'd said it with a shake of his head and a look in his eyes so sad that Winter had forgiven him without a second thought, just grateful to have his older brother back in the same house for a while.

At the time, Winter still thought Artie worked for the Peace Corps, not Panacea. Now he looked back and wondered what kind of mission Artie had really been on. Whether his brother had lost someone on that trip, too.

"Let it go," Winter said quietly.

Tems and Sydney looked at him in unison, eyes flashing, but Winter just stared grimly at them both.

"Grief takes the shortest path it can find," he said. "And the shortest path is at each other. Let it go. It won't help us now."

Tems glared at him, although he didn't answer with a retort. Instead, he straightened and headed toward the door. "Check in at zero three hundred," he called over his shoulder.

Winter watched him reach the door and swing it open. It clicked shut behind him, sealing them in silence.

He turned his eyes back to Sydney. She was looking out the window, her eyes far away. Perhaps she was lost in a memory of her own loved ones, people now forever out of her reach.

Again, he tried calling Claire. Again, no signal. He tried Dameon. No luck.

"Shit," he muttered.

He hesitated, staring down at the next number on his phone. Gavi.

She had gotten a local phone card. He might still be able to call through to her. They'd risk getting tracked—but their options were running out.

He dialed her. Sure enough, it went through. She picked up after the first ring.

"Winter," she said breathlessly. She sounded like she was in a chaotic crowd of voices. "Winter, thank god. Where are you?"

"I'm safe," he said.

"Where are"—her voice cut out for a second—"everyone's looking for you."

"You told me you owe me a favor," he said.

She seemed to suck in her breath, then quieted her voice. "I did."

"Go public with the news that I'm not there anymore. I'm not in the country."

"You—what? How did you get out?"

"I'm safe. I can't share where I am." He lowered his voice. "Tell everyone I'm not there anymore. And give the phone to Claire."

She hesitated, and he added, "Please, Gavi. Just this once, with no strings attached."

"All right." To her credit this time, she didn't fish for more details. "Here's Claire."

Her voice abruptly turned distant, and a second later, Claire's came on strong and clear. "Winter?" she said.

Relief flooded through him. "Claire," he muttered, looking at Sydney. "Don't kill me."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't," she snapped. "Where the hell are you? You're not in the country anymore?"

"Don't say a word out loud," Winter replied. "But I need you to send my plane to an airfield."