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"Angela." Julian's voice is in my ear, his chest pressed to my back. "Are you okay?"

I'm shaking, tremors moving through me as I stare at Vladimir, in his tuxedo, that giant body flailing on the shiny dance floor.

Men rush forward, security surrounding him. The silver-haired security agent crouches by Vladimir’s side, hand on the big guy’s chest, mouth drawn into a tight line.

I'm staring, can't take my eyes off the scene. Then Vladimir goes still.So damn still.It's a relief in one moment—the seizure has stopped—and terrifying in the next. He's not moving…at all.

Silver starts doing compressions on his chest. I count with him…one, two, three.

Julian pulls me backward so that the crowd grows thicker, so that I can no longer see Vladimir through the crush of onlookers. Medics yell, pushing through the throng. The onlookers dash out of the way. This is not the gentle parting for a powerful man but the panicked sidestep of emergency…they don't want to be the ones who kill him.

"Angela." Julian turns me to face him. "Hey." He cups my cheek, those big blue eyes of his holding mine, trying to see inside. I blink, not sure what he saw.Did I leave the shutters open?

"Julian," I croak, my throat thick with tears.

He wraps me in his arms, my face pressed to his chest. "You're okay," he tells me, one hand on my back, the other coming up to pet my hair. I don't respond. What can I say?

This is horrific.I did this.

The medics,cheeks red with exertion and excitement, take Vladimir out on a gurney, an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. The silver-haired security agent goes with him. I stand with Julian, my side pressed to his, as they jog out of the room. "Is he—?" I ask.

"I don’t know," Julian answers, squeezing me. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know."

The ambassador appears on the stage, drawing the attention of the milling crowd, his voice over the microphone quieting the hush of conversation. "Please everyone, return to your tables. Mr. Petrov is in good medical hands. I'm so sorry about this...." I zone out, my eyes scanning the room.

Is this what was supposed to happen? Is he dead? Did I kill a man…again? But this time on purpose, knowingly?

Not knowingly. I didn'tknowwhat was in the pill. This is on Temperance. On Sing. I'm just the weapon; they are the ones that fired it. A wave of sickness washes over me, and I lean against Julian harder.I don't want to be a weapon.

“Let’s get out of here,” Julian whispers into my hair.

Steering me with a hand at my waist, we start toward the exit. Security stands on either side of the door—not the decorative Marines this time, but plain-clothed professionals. They watch our approach from under lowered brows. One steps forward, putting a hand out to stop us. "I'm sorry," he says. "But no one can leave."

"Excuse me?" Julian says, his voice loud.

"Everyone must speak with the police before they go.” Nausea turns my stomach. "The police?" Julian says, his voice softening in confusion. "Why?"

"Please sir, return to your table."

Julian leans toward the security officer. "She's had a rough night. Can't the police meet us at our hotel? This is very traumatizing."

A laugh tries to escape over the nausea, but I stifle it.

"I'm sorry, sir. We have our orders."

Julian stiffens but does not respond. "Come on," he says to me quietly. “Let's speak to the ambassador."

I let him lead me across the room toward the ambassador's table, but he is still on stage. "The police will be here soon," the ambassador says. "They ask that you all wait until their arrival to leave."

The room quiets, the air thickening with tension. Murmurs start up, people leaning toward each other. The candlelight glitters on the women’s jewels, which sparkle almost as bright as the glee in their eyes. This is an adventure. A story to tell.

When the ambassador leaves the stage, Julian moves quickly, leaving me standing by an empty seat. I grip the back of the chair to steady myself and take stock of my appearance. My head feels drained of blood; I’m sure I look it.Good.Eyes soft, scared. Yes, that's in line with what happened. My throat is still tight, my stomach upset.Yes.This all works.I am an innocent woman whose dance partner just had a seizure and possibly died underneath her.

Julian reaches the ambassador and dips his head slightly to speak to the older man. The ambassador nods, listening, understanding.

But will he let us go?Julian's hands are moving now. The ambassador is nodding, but his mouth is firm.It's not going to work.