I laugh in spite of myself, because even though Noah can’t make me happy, every now and then he makes me forget to be sad. And sometimes I try to tell myself that it’s enough.

Then he looks at me again, joking aside. “What is up with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Where were you? What made you so upset?”

I want to tell him — I really do. Noah is good and kind and safe — a diary in human form — and I want to pour out all of my secrets. But they’re secrets for a reason, and Noah can never, ever know. Not about Lila or the Society or the Scarred Man or me. Especially me. It’s taken sixteen years for me to find a best friend; I can’t risk losing him now.

“Nothing, Noah. I’m fine. Really.”

I turn from the cliffs and start toward the rough path that leads to the street below. But before I get far, Noah reaches out and grabs my hand. As he spins me toward him, he is heartbreakingly serious.

“Just don’t jump, Grace. Okay? Please don’t jump.”

“Yeah. Okay,” I say, and move again toward the path, but Noah keeps my hand too tight in his own and pulls me closer.

“I mean it. Don’t get yourself … hurt. Okay?”

I’ve only lived on Embassy Row for a few weeks, and already Noah knows this about me — that I’m reckless, that I’m dangerous. That I can never be trusted. And that’s the problem.

“I’m not going to jump, Noah,” I say, but even I don’t really believe me.

He doesn’t question my word, though, as we start down the path that is even wilder and more overgrown in the heat of summer. He doesn’t even question my sanity.

He just says, “I saw the Scarred Man today.”

“His name is Dominic,” I say, repeating the words I have told myself over and over since that fateful night.

“Yeah, Dominic. I saw him. And I don’t trust him.”

But I’m already shaking my head. “He’s just a man with a scar. Not all people with scars are evil.”

Noah gives me a look. “Of course not. But think about it. You say Dominic killed your mom —”

“He didn’t,” I blurt. But Noah doesn’t hear my tone. He doesn’t read the pain that lives behind my eyes.

“Yeah.” Noah waves my concern away. “But he’s supposed to be the prime minister’s head of security, right? And then the prime minister’s heart mysteriously gives out right in the middle of the G-20 Summit? On the Scarred Man’s watch? The prime minister is in a coma, Grace.”

“I am aware, Noah.”

“Don’t joke. And don’t tell me that’s a coincidence,” Noah finishes strong.

It’s not, but I don’t dare say so.

“I was wrong,” I tell him. “Okay? Dominic didn’t kill my mother. My mother’s death was an accident.”

I don’t choke on the word — and for that, at least, I’m grateful. But Noah still hears a little of what I don’t say.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Noah has been my designated best friend since my first night on Embassy Row. But he wasn’t there the night the prime minister finally cornered me. He didn’t see the way Dominic put himself in danger. And he can never, ever know that the prime minister was shot and Ms. Chancellor was the one who picked up the gun and pulled the trigger. Noah may be my best friend and all, but I’m pretty sure he’s not ready for the international implications of a high-ranking diplomat from one country actually shooting and seriously wounding the prime minister of another. Wars have started for less. And if Noah knew the truth … if anyone knew the truth …

I think about Grandpa and the president and the diplomatic implications.

And then I think about the Society and wonder what they’ve already done to keep the truth a secret. I don’t want to know how far they might go to make sure it stays that way.

“Grace. Gracie!” Slowly, Noah’s voice brings me back. Then he smiles and squeezes my hand.

“You okay?” Noah is a good enough friend that he actually cares about the answer to that question. Which means he’s too good a friend for me to actually give it.

Instead, I kick a small stone that sits on the path, watch it tumble down the hill, and say, “Come on.”

A few minutes later we’re stepping back onto Embassy Row. The sun has started to set across the Mediterranean, and the flags of the embassies all blow in the salty breeze, like soldiers standing guard against the massive wall that has held Valancia safe against intruders for at least a thousand years.

Wordlessly, Noah falls into step beside me, his long legs eating up the ground, two of my strides matching one of his.

“So,” he says, spinning around and walking backward, “what are we going to do now?”

“Now, Noah, I go home.”

“Okay. Good plan. First stop, USA. We’ll tell your grandfather and Ms. Chancellor that you’re going to spend the evening with me. I’ll give them my best responsible-role-model smile, and they’ll be putty in my hands. Then what? A movie?”

“No, thank you,” I say, trying out my best good-girl voice.

“No movies. Check. Hey, Lila’s planning a thing later. We should go.”

Lila. The realization almost stops me. Noah doesn’t know the truth about Lila.

“Grace?”

“Oh, right.” I shake my head. “That’s a great idea, because your twin sister is such a fan of mine.”