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 reallyWinter 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 concertday, 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.
