Winter looked at the window. “Stop the car and let me out.”
Sauda stared calmly at him, as if she knew this would be his response. “A butterfly flaps its wings and changes the world.” Her voice softened. “Your brother. Artemis Young. Peace Corps, right?”
Winter froze, all sarcasm leaking out of him. “Careful there,” he said quietly. “Now you’re treading on some dangerous ground.”
“He talked a lot about you to his colleagues,” she told him. “That he was proud of you, but that you were always searching for something bigger than what you had, some purpose, some reason to be worthy. I suspect that even now, as renowned as you are, you feel like you haven’t found it.”
Winter could hear the words as if they had been said by Artie himself. And suddenly, he could see a ghost of his brother sitting in the car, too, leaning back against the seat and regarding him with an easy smile. To his frustration, he could feel moisture welling at the corners of his eyes, his throat tightening against his will.
“Why are you digging up info on my brother?” Winter said, his voice hoarse.
“Because I assume there’s a lot you don’t know about him,” Sauda answered, “or how he died. And that you’d probably like to know.”
The world seemed to tilt. The night outside the car looked hazy.
“Artie died during a Peace Corps assignment in Bolivia,” he said slowly.
“Did he?” Sauda replied.
His heart started to pound. “Am I wrong?” he asked.
Sauda’s expression looked gentler now. “This isn’t the time or place to tell you everything. And maybe you don’t want to know. If that’s truly the case, then just say the word, and I will have you dropped at your hotel,no more questions asked.” She nodded. “But if you want to know, you’ll need to sign some paperwork with us. And to do that, you may want to consider my offer to you.”
Nothing made sense anymore. Winter’s hands tingled; his limbs felt numb. Artie, who had always fought for something bigger than himself, who had never talked about what he did. Winter felt like he was in some sort of waking nightmare, hearing about a version of his brother distorted through a circus mirror.
What if Sauda was telling the truth? What had really happened to Artie? How much did he not know? Why didSaudaknow? Winter wanted to scream the questions at her, demand that she tell him what she was purposely withholding. His hands shook with restraint—his breath came out shallow and uneven, and his tears threatened to spill over.
Embarrassed, Winter wiped his eyes impatiently and scowled at Sauda. “Using my brother against me is a pretty low blow.”
Sauda looked unfazed. “I’m only doing my job. Nothing personal.”
“It’s always personal.”
“It’s for a greater good.” Sauda tilted her head. “Something I know you think about constantly.”
Winter scoffed and looked away, heart stretched tight. “I’m just an entertainer,” he muttered.
“You’re our perfect spy.”
Winter’s frustration spiked. “I am the literal opposite of a spy,” he snapped. “You understand that, right?” He waved a hand at her. “Isn’t the entire point of your work to stay in the shadows, to never be recognized for what you do?”
“It’s the most thankless job,” Sauda agreed.
“Well, my entire career revolves around being recognized.”
Sauda leaned toward him. An intense light illuminated her gaze. “What is a mission but a performance? You know how to make a scene, how to get people to look where you want them to look. You know howto work a crowd, to pivot in the moment when something goes wrong, and to transform your entire personality depending on your audience. You know how to lie on a whim. Best of all, no one will suspect you. That’s the beauty of being an unconventional spy.” She tapped her temple with one finger, the nail spring green. “Let yourself think bravely, Winter Young. You may presume that you belong in the spotlight and I operate in a secret world, but perhaps we exist in the same place.”
Winter swallowed hard. “I can’t do this,” he whispered.
“You’ve been staring at all the success in your life and wondering why any of it matters. You spend your nights awake, feeling grateful and guilty for your fans, wondering if you’re worthy.” Sauda leaned toward him. “I know you want to do good. Tobegood.”
“I’m not my brother,” he muttered.
“You have his heart.” She tapped her chest with a finger. “You’re searching for something. Validation, maybe.”
“And you think I’m going to find that by working for you,” he said coldly.
“I think you might find satisfaction in knowing that you can use your considerable stardom for justice, yes.” Sauda smiled a little, and behind that smile was something tragic. “Maybe doing a thankless good deed for a change is exactly what you’re looking for.”
