So I take off my shoes and my sweater.

So I follow.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I tell Alexei when I reach him.

“I smell, Gracie. And I’m tired. And every part of me hurts from sleeping on the ground last night, so yes, I should be doing this. I’m just glad you’re doing it with me.”

I tread water and look up at the moon that’s rising.

“The water’s warm,” I finally say, dipping low to let my hair wash back away from my face.

“Yeah.” Alexei’s treading water, too, barely moving. We’re both suspended — in the water, in time. “I think one of the hot springs must feed into it. It’s like this all year long,” he says, and I know it’s true. The weather in Adria never varies much, but I can imagine Alexei sneaking out here in the middle of winter, taking off his shoes and shirt and diving in.

“Stop,” Alexei says, pulling me back.

“Stop what?” I ask.

“Stop thinking.” He’s closer now, I realize. I can barely see the shore. In Valancia, the Festival of the Fortnight is in full swing. Natives and tourists no doubt fill the streets, but Alexei and I are cocooned in our own little world. And we are happy. Almost.

“I’m going to do it,” Alexei warns. His smile is too bright in the moonlight.

“Do what?” I ask.

“I’m going to make you laugh.”

“You’re what?”

“I’m going to make you laugh,” he says, grinning. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you laugh, Gracie, and it’s time.”

I’m just opening my mouth to protest when he splashes me.

Water gushes over my head. It gets in my mouth and my eyes.

“You —”

He does it again and again.

And again.

And he’s right. I do laugh. I laugh so loudly that it echoes off the hills and drowns out the sound of the rushing, falling water.

I laugh like a little girl who has finally climbed the wall and caught up with the boys.

I laugh because, for once, Alexei chose to run away with me.

When I splash him back, he lunges in the water, wrapping my arms in his own, squeezing me from behind. I squirm and kick and try to break free, but Alexei only holds me tighter, pulling me against his chest as we float, weightless, looking up at the stars.

Slowly, I stop fighting.

For a long time, we are alone and we are silent. I can feel Alexei’s every breath. My head rests on his shoulder and he doesn’t move to push me away. If anything, he holds me tighter.

“The people who are behind this …” Alexei begins, but I just keep gazing at the stars. “Someone put a bomb in a diplomatic car, Gracie. Someone killed a West Point cadet who was a personal guest of the United States ambassador. Whoever these people are, please tell me you’re being careful.”

He squeezes me so tightly that I can barely breathe. The last thing I want to do is stop him.

“I’m okay,” I say, to the boy and to the stars. “I’ll be okay,” I say, praying it’s true.

Embassy Row is dark when I reach it. It’s late enough that if I’m quiet I know that I might just make it inside and up to my room before Jamie or my grandfather or Ms. Chancellor even realizes I’ve been missing. The rain drove most of the protestors away, and now Embassy Row is oddly silent. For the first time in days, the street is at peace.

“You have been careless, Grace Olivia.”

When Dominic steps out from the small crack in the fence between the US and Russia, I almost jump out of my skin.

“You scared me!” I say while I try to force my heart back into my chest.

He doesn’t ask where I’ve been or who I’ve been with. No. It’s worse than that. He looks at me like he already knows.

“Valancia is a dangerous city,” Dominic says, but I can’t help myself. I glance down the mansion-lined street. Armed guards stand approximately every fifty feet; cameras cover every angle.

“Yeah.” It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. “Clearly the neighborhood is super sketchy.”

But Dominic doesn’t laugh at my joke, doesn’t relax. He doesn’t even scold me like my dad or Jamie would. He just looks at me as if he sees something I don’t. And he probably does. He was some kind of elite soldier once upon a time. It’s his job to look in shadows and see ghosts. Now that there’s no one he’s supposed to be protecting, I guess he’s decided to protect me.

For the first time in my life, I actually feel sorry for the Scarred Man.

“How are you?” I ask.

He looks stunned by the question.

“You should not be concerned about me,” he says.

“But you get to worry about me? That doesn’t quite sound fair.”

“I …” He stumbles, and I know I’ve knocked him off guard, probably the first time that’s happened in decades. He moves out of my way and gestures to the embassy. “Go inside, Grace Olivia. And do not wander the streets alone again. Especially after dark. Especially now.”

The Festival of the Fortnight is just getting started, and as if on cue, some drunks stagger down Embassy Row, proving his point.

I move to the gates but at the last minute turn back and study the Scarred Man. Was he always so dark, so brooding? Did he ever go night swimming with a girl and splash her until she laughed? And did that laughter die the night my mother died? Did I kill his laughter, too, when I killed her?