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A NONDESCRIPT CATERING VAN IDENTICAL TO THE ONES D EONTE’S coworkers have used all week waits on the semicircular drive. In the driver’s seat is a man with a regrettable beard.

Of course he grew it back.

Kevin stands outside the driver’s side, leaning his elbows on the open window. As I approach, I hear their conversation.

“I knew you couldn’t resist, man,” Kevin says, with characteristic enthusiasm. “Once a Chess Club member, always a Chess Club member. I can’t believe you pulled a whole solo job and didn’t even tell us! You have to come party with us in Paris after this. Give us the whole story.”

“Mr. Webber,” McCoy says, amused but stern. “How are your college applications going? I didn’t write you a letter of recommendation just for you to get distracted by a multimillion-dollar heist. You know, you can’t put a price tag on a good education.”

Kevin lays a hand over his heart, scandalized. “Peter, please. I had them all submitted before we touched down in Switzerland.”

McCoy’s lips twitch at Kevin’s use of his first name. “Good man,” he says.

“Really appreciate the letter. I framed a copy for my wall, too.”

I catch McCoy’s eye, sharing a silent laugh.

“I meant every word,” McCoy says to Kevin sincerely.

Kevin beams. “So you’ll come to Paris, then?”

I step up beside Kevin, drawing his attention. “Did we officially agree to Paris?” I ask. “I seem to remember it remaining undetermined.”

“Olivia, we have to do Paris. We’re all here. We’re together. It’s senior year. What better time is there?”

I open my mouth but find I can’t object.

Kevin Webber never ceases to provide unsuspecting wisdom.

“Paris it is,” I say, laughing when Kevin fist pumps.

I look to my former teacher. “Thanks again, Mr. McCoy. I really appreciate the last-minute trip to Switzerland, and, you know, the last-minute breaking and entering.”

McCoy pulls at the collar of his black polo under his parka. “Anything for my favorite student,” he says softly.

A knot swells in my throat. I may not have the best father figure in Dash, but McCoy has always made me feel like I’m worth something. I’ll forever be grateful to him for the kindness he showed a struggling freshman in his English class.

“ Dude , ouch,” Kevin says. “I’m right here.”

I shove him playfully. “Go party with the gang. We’re celebrating. Tell them about Paris.”

My words have their designed effect. Kevin forgets the insult and heads inside, bouncing lightly on his feet. I have no doubt I’ll be receiving a Paris itinerary before I go to sleep tonight.

“Looks like I’m the getaway driver. Again,” McCoy says, his tone rueful while his expression is wistful. I know he has to pretend to be more mature and moral than us. But McCoy loves this as much as any of us.

“I’m really glad you could be part of this job,” I say, shivering slightly in the cold in just my tux. “It’s not the same without you.”

McCoy twists in his seat to better face me. “You don’t need me, Olivia. You’re the leader here, and you’re exceptionally capable.”

Suddenly, I feel less cold. “Still,” I say. “It’s nice to see you. Maybe when we’re in Paris we could get coffee.”

McCoy smiles kindly. “I suppose I could pop over on the Chunnel.”

I hear the castle door open and close. The sound of voices. People are starting to leave the party.

McCoy follows my gaze. “I’ll get these to the rendezvous point. Go have fun. Happy New Year, Olivia.”

“Happy New Year,” I reply, stepping back from the van.

He drives down the driveway. I watch as security waves him through the gates and onto the road down the mountain, taking Leonie’s fortune with him.

Behind me, the beat of the music breaks through Volenvell’s stone walls. I turn, letting it lead me back inside to where my crew is dancing in the gilded ballroom.

It’s long past midnight now, and most of the older guests have retired to bed.

The string quartet is no longer playing.

Instead, it appears Finn has hooked up his iPhone to speakers set up on the bar.

No one is waltzing now. The dance floor is packed with swaying bodies in front of the melting miniature of Volenvell.

I spot Abigail and Deonte in the heart of the party, their hands interlaced above them as they bounce to the beat.

I make my way to them. Tom and Grace are nearby, Grace stealing the spotlight from everyone with her effortless movements.

Kevin emerges, pushing up to them with a champagne bottle in hand, which he passes around.

Together, we dance, we sing. We celebrate. It’s perfect.

Almost.

I check my phone once more, but still nothing from Jackson. I guess he might have gone to bed back in whatever hotel in the village he checked into. Or maybe he’s on his way to the airport.

Clearly, he’s pissed I didn’t stop my heist for him tonight. I’m not perfect, though. He knows that, and he knows who I am—how I would never sacrifice my ambitions for anyone. I have to believe he’d never ask it of me.

I’ll find him, even if it’s back home. I’ll explain everything.

Until then, I still have one final piece of this heist to wrap up.

I spot Dash standing near the ballroom doors.

Quietly, not wanting to interrupt my crew’s celebrating, I back away from them. The farther I get from the dancing throng, the more my skin cools on my way to my father.

“How’s your nose?” I ask by way of greeting.

He touches it gently, wincing. “Nothing compared to the hell it’ll be to explain to Maureen.”

“Why didn’t you bring your wife to Volenvell?” I can’t help inquiring. “Don’t tell me this marriage is already on the rocks.”

Not that I’d be surprised. Maureen essentially blackmailed my father into marriage. A move I honestly have to respect.

“She told me I should come alone if I wanted to make up with you,” Dash replies.

I blink, my breath stilling in my lungs. “That’s not why you came, though, is it?”

“Well, I couldn’t tell her I needed to join a secret club in order to protect myself from my family’s attempts to accuse me of murder, now, could I?” He smiles wryly.

I laugh, desperately relieved. I don’t know why kindness from my father terrifies me worse than anything we’ve faced here. I feel the tension in my chest loosen. Still, though, the echo of what I called him in the vault hangs between us.

“Olivia, I—” Dash begins, his tone terrifyingly sincere.

“No.” I cut him off. “Don’t make it a whole thing.”

Dash’s lips twist. “A conversation is not a whole thing .”

I cut him a withering look.

“Fine. Fine.” He holds up his hand. “Can I just say I enjoyed working with you this week? Or is even that too cringeworthy?”

I consider, my eyes narrowed. I don’t know how to trust this version of my father. The last time I thought he cared about me, he cast me out of his home for siding with my mom.

“It’s borderline,” I tell him.

Dash laughs. “Well, I am your… dad. It’s about time I start embarrassing you.”

“You do know every moment of your wedding was deeply embarrassing to me, right? Let’s not even get into Lexi—”

He rolls his eyes. “Embarrassing you for the right reasons, that is.”

I fall silent.

No, I can’t trust my father, can I? Except…

I thought I couldn’t trust Leonie or Abigail or Tom or Mia or Deonte.

I’ve been wrong enough times to make me wonder if maybe doubt isn’t something uncompromising like stone.

Maybe it’s ice. Hardened. Sharp. But with enough time in the light, it will thaw.

I want to be ice. Not because I want to feel nothing. Because maybe, just maybe, I’ll melt.

I take off my cuff links and hold them out to my father. “I know I told you I’d only give them to you when we’re safely off the premises, but I have a feeling we’re going to be partying late into the night. And you’re old. You should go to sleep.”

“Your grandmother hasn’t even gone to bed yet, Olivia. I have to stay out later than her .”

I ignore him and shove the cuff links into his hands. Our deal is done. He has what he wants. Now I’ll really know if his kindness was just to get what he now has or if… he means it.

He doesn’t pocket them, his eyes remaining on me. “I don’t know if I need them anymore, to be honest. I think you might be a better ally than even the Knives.”

His words feel like an open flame. Warm. Dangerous. I have to hold myself back. “Take them anyway,” I say. “I certainly don’t want them.”

He slides them into his pocket as I turn to go.

“Did you catch up with Jackson, then?” he asks, halting me. “He should still be around somewhere.”

“No, I’m pretty sure he left,” I reply.

Dash furrows his brow. “Odd. When I left for the vault before the fireworks, I saw him walking out with Otto. I figured he was arranging to have his room back.”

Ice. I do become ice now. For every wrong reason.

“What?” I get out, breathless. “Otto? Did anyone see Jackson after?” Sweat springs to my skin, panic threatening to seize me.

“I don’t know.” Dash shakes his head.

My heartbeat thrashes in my chest.

Otto’s words when we shook hands come back to me. From this moment on, then. A truce.

From this moment on.

It’s as if he was carefully carving out an exception to our agreement, excluding anything he might have done prior to my arrival in his office.

My mind races. Did Jackson confront him? Would Otto have hurt Jackson? One final warning to me? Did he kidnap him? Collateral to make sure I never step out of line? Is that why he agreed to the deal so easily?

“I have to—”

I don’t even finish the sentence before I nearly break into a run on my way out of the ballroom.