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Vivian inserted two tiny recorders into the painting and a mini camera. Madeline wouldn’t have allowed me to attend knowing who I was. So this was my way of infiltrating her event.

Time flew by, and I ate some snacks the girls had brought with them.

I couldn’t have done all of this without my friends’ help. Elena’s Musepaper would blast details about today’s event to her wide audience. Natalie designed the dress with the hidden pockets so I could hide a knife in case I needed it. I painted over the canvas dress, blending it into the background of thepainting. Kiera would take photos of the event to give to Elena and Michelle. Michelle’s blog would release pictures and info to her international audience. Vivian’s cutting-edge devices provided video and audio to support Elena and Michelle’s media coverage. Audri’s jewelry company was holding a fundraiser to support all the victims of The Trogyn. Anyone who donated would get a free bracelet from her new collection.

I could’ve disguised myself as a patron in the audience and watch the event unfold, but I needed to be up-close to Madeline. She had killed my love and my friends. I needed to see hereatthe poisonous berries. I was a breath from danger, but I didn’t care.

“We’re heading back to the suite to prepare for the event.” They had purchased tickets under false names in case Madeline had their real names banned.

The girls all stood in front of me, looking worried. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for all your help.”

“Thanks for giving us an actual Super Spy Girl mission,” Michelle teased.

Audri and Natalie held hands.

“Our boys would appreciate this,” Audri said, sorrow filling her eyes.

“I needed this too.” Natalie forced a smile.

“The boys only know part of the plan. We’ll share the rest of the details when we return to our rooms.” Vivian wrapped an arm around Michelle. “They’ll get mad. But, hey, we can’t just sit around and do nothing when they place themselves in danger for us all the time.”

The girls and I had gone through several plans to help our boys at our Chill and Chat, but nothing was finalized. We thought we had more time.

This idea had formed in my mind like a deadly disease that developed inside a body filled with sorrow, hatred, and anger. Attikus’s death triggered my vendetta. I didn’t tell the girls or my mom that I would die with Madeline today if the situation called for it.

When the girls left, I stood in silence. One dim light glowed in the far corner. In the quiet, I heard Attikus’s voice in my head. My heart was in pain from missing him so much. The pain throbbed all over my body. I felt it in my veins, in my lungs, in the air that I breathed. It hurt to live. I imagined my bodily cells trying their best to heal me. But my suffering wasn’t a cut that could be bandaged or fixed with a pill. I didn’t know if I could ever heal from this deep wound. I would do anything to see him again. Tears approached, but I shoved them down. The wetness would ruin the paint camouflage. As I waited for time to tick by, I replayed the day I last saw Attikus. My chest constricted.

I love you so much.

A noise sounded at the two doors, and the hotel staff wearing all black entered, flicking on the lights.

“Wow, look at that exceptional painting of the First Lady,” said the bald man as he prepared the appetizer and refreshment tables near the entrance, which was on the opposite side of where I was.

Don’t come over. Don’t come over.

It was so hard not to blink. I prayed no one stared at the painting long enough to notice my eyes.

The staff brought in seven paintings on easels with numbers on them. Minutes later, two employees gestured for three men wearing colorful suits to enter. They walked over to the band area, grabbed their instruments, and practiced a tune. Thirty minutes later, people arrived, browsed the paintings, and stopped by the appetizer table. Some attendees wore classy gowns and suits, while others wore unique outfits that told methey were artists. The crowd seemed to be a blend of the wealthy, creative types, and doctors who wanted to support Brigham and Women’s Hospital. One doctor still had on his white lab coat.

“Look at that painting.” A woman in a black dress yanked at her spouse’s arm and pointed at me. “It’s gorgeous.”

Nerves twisted my stomach.

“That’s a cool piece,” said the man in the navy suit. He walked up to the painting with the woman. “I don’t think it’s for sale though.”

I held my breath, praying they’d take a seat at their table below the platform.

“It’s not for sale,” said a man with the wild purple hair. “There’s no number on it. That masterpiece would be awesome in my new movie, though.”

“Maybe you can ask the First Lady to borrow it.” The lady smiled.

“Please take your seats, everyone,” said the staff member wearing a little black dress. “The First Couple would be arriving soon.”

I breathed out a sigh of relief as people walked to their assigned seats.

Minutes later, President Collins andMadeline Claude-Collins walked through the door. She wore a red gown with thin straps and a full skirt. Her blonde hair had wavy layers that looked stiff. The President wore a tuxedo, looking powerful and proud.