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“I tried to go up. I guess I’m kind of nosy.” Gretchen blushes. “But the elevator won’t go past the eighth floor unless you have a key card for it. I think the top floor was only for the billionaires back before the plague.”

My phone beeps again.

Now.

“I need to ah …” I shake my head. “I think I need to go to the restroom.”

“Oh, there’s a nice big one just outside.” Evie is pulling more vials than anyone could fill from a cabinet. “This was a hoity toity ballroom before we turned it into our super lab. Head out the doors and take a right. You’ll see the signs.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I turn to Gene. “You good here?”

“Right as rain.” He eyes Aang’s messy desk again. “Got some things to be working on. Yes, I surely do.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for the Miracle,” Wyatt calls as I push through the doors and past the security men who are still standing silently like gargoyles.

Passing back through the atrium, I spot my Secret Service guy sitting on one of the blue couches reading a book. I suppose I can’t blame him. This entire building is covered inside and out with soldiers and guards so it’s not like he needs to be on his toes.

The elevator opens as I walk up to it, and I step inside, the mirrors reflecting me back at myself as I eye the number buttons. Nine is at the top next to a card swipe pad. I hit the button and hope for the best. The doors close, but the elevator doesn’t move.

“Shit.” I look up at the camera in the corner. “I don’t have a keycard—oh wait!” I dig out my ID and swipe it on the sensor. The elevator begins to rise. “I guess I do have a keycard,” I say under my breath and stuff my ID back into my bag. I’ll have to tell Gretchen I cracked the code.

The door opens on a marble foyer, and wide windows ahead give a view of the Washington Monument on one end, and the Capitol on the other. Gretchen must be right; this was probably where the billionaires stayed when they’d visit DC.

“If you’re done gawking, I’d like to get this taken care of.” A low voice, one that sends goosebumps rushing along my skin.

I take a few hesitant steps forward and look around. The furniture is cushy, the walls done in a cream-colored paneling and lined with gold. Even the rugs are nicer than anything we had at the Governor’s Mansion, not that I have an eye for décor.

“Closer.”

I follow his voice to a dining room, a long table set with several chairs. It’s darker in here without windows, the air a few degrees cooler. He sits at the head, his black hair and piercing blue eyes familiar, but the quirk of his lips is a shock to my system. It’s the first time I’ve seen him with his face bare, his chiseled chin and high cheekbones. Full lips with a cupid’s bow. His nose is aquiline, almost too sharp, but fitting for his face.

“You should wear a mask,” I say stupidly.

He smirks, the corner of his lips twisting like a fishhook in my gut. “The plague can’t touch me. You’re safe … on that score.”

On that score? I swallow hard, then kick my chin up to bolster my courage. “My sister told me you’re a different species, a superhuman.”

He smiles, but it’s cold, and offers no reply.

“Is this your place?”

“Have a seat, Dr. Clark, and I’ll explain your situation.”

Maybe he’s a superhuman, maybe not. One thing I’m sure of is that I’m not going to take any shit. “Mysituation? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“As I said, if you’ll sit, I’ll tell you exactly what I mean. No need to fret, I don’t mince words.” He gestures at the chair to his right, then simply stares at me. The pressure of his gaze isn’t unlike a hand pressing on my shoulder, demanding I obey.

I walk around the table and take the chair to his left instead. “Go on.”

His left brow arches just a hair. “The president has guaranteed me access to you every day until you develop a cure for the plague. During that time, I will meet you here in your rooms every evening at nightfall unless I’m otherwise engaged. You will keep your phone on you at all times. You have my number. Only contact me if you’ve found the cure. Otherwise, I’ll contact you when necessary. When I arrive each evening, I expect a full breakdown of what you’ve researched and discovered for the day, including detailed diagnostics on each blood sample I give you.”

I stare at him, admittedly blankly. “You want my findings?”

Letting out an aggrieved sigh, he says, “I take it your sister hasn’t informed you of any of this.”

“Any ofwhat?” I bristle. “And no, she hadn’t informed me you’d be looking over my shoulder constantly.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a vial of blood. “This is your sample for the week.”