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“I have it.” I fumble around in my backpack. “I swear, it’s in here somewhere. Um.” I keep digging as the two soldiers in front of the grand hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue exchange amused expressions. “Seriously, my sister just gave it to me. I know I put it in here.”

“Your sister, as in the president?” the one with red hair and a twinkle in his eye asks.

“That’s the one.” My fingers finally skim the edges of hard plastic, and I grab the badge and pull it out triumphantly. “See?”

“We really didn’t need it, Dr. Clark. We know who you are.” The redhead—whose uniform reads ‘Howard’—pulls the door open for me.

“Then why?—”

“Gotta do something to keep the days interesting. Guarding a bunch of scientists doesn’t really give us a whole lot of entertainment.” He winks. “All right, in you go.”

I frown up at him and hurry inside. It’s bitter cold out. I forced myself to walk to the hotel from the White House, telling myself the entire way that I was safe, that no gunmen were lurking in the quiet buildings or silent streets. The Secret Service member following along a block behind me helped, I suppose. He’s already chatting up the soldiers out front as I enter the hotel’s atrium. It’s gorgeous, far more opulent than it has any business being. Then I see a familiar face and break into a smile.

“There you are, Doc.” He stands from one of the cushy blue chairs. “Been waiting for you. Worrying a little, of course, after what happened yesterday.” He shakes his head.

“Gene! I’m so glad to see you!” I hurry to him, my steps on the shiny tile floor echoing somewhat. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” I tease.

“Oh, I get around.” Gene laughs. “This place ain’t so bad.”

“Did you get settled in all right? How’s the housing?” We’re in the lobby of what used to be a fancy hotel. The furniture and fixtures are still here, but the bar at the back of the expansive room is empty of bottles except for the top two rows that look about twenty feet high. Despite the glitz, the entire space has a hollow feeling, as if it misses the people that used to frequent it. The blue furniture is turned this way and that, clearly not in the stately arrangement it must’ve been when this place was still in business. But nothing seems to be missing, save most of the liquor.

“A lot better than Austin. Hot meals and a decent bed. No hooligans as far as I can tell.” He looks up at the golden girders overhead in the atrium and the enormous American flag that hangs from one of the top floors. “I’ve never stayed in a place as fancy as this.”

“Oh, so you’ve got a room here?” My cheeks heat at the fact I didn’t know these details. I should know where he’s staying. I’m the one who insisted Juno bring him as part of her first sweep of new hires.

“Yep, fourth floor.” He leads me toward a large set of doors off the atrium. “Labs are down here in the ballroom.”

“Hey, wait a sec.” I stop. “I want to tell you thanks for coming with me. Just seeing you here makes it seem … I don’t know, infinitely more comfortable. But I know it was a big ask.”

“Not so big, Doc. Not so big at all. What do I have left in Texas? Not much. Here, I can help you with the Lord’s work. That’s more important, isn’t it? Not to mention the federal paycheck.” He starts moving again, his limp still pronounced. “Now it’s time to get down to it.”

“I suppose it is.” I follow him through the wide double doors, my nerves evident in my clammy palms. I wipe them on my jeans and take a deep breath. “This place is huge.”

“You know, I was reading the plaques out in the front part, and it said this used to be a post office. Can you imagine coming in here just to send a package?”

“Nope.”

He turns left, then pushes his way through another set of doors—these seem newer, far more clinical than the ornate construction of the rest of the hotel. “Not sure what you do in here, Doc, but it’s clean.”

“It’s their HCL.” I look around at the biohazard suits, respirators, soap and water station, and several other cleaning supplies.

“Eh?” Gene asks.

“High containment lab. It’s the safest way to study the virus when it could potentially be in an aerosol form. Looks like they’re at level four, strictest for cleanliness and cross-contamination. Likely has its own airlocks, circulation and tons of other safeguards for workers who go inside.”

He gives me a quizzical look.

“Sierravirus can be in the air, as you know, though it’s far more contagious from surfaces. It takes a relatively high concentration of the aerosol to infect someone as opposed to say, smallpox or measles. But it’s still transmissible. All this is so we don’t breathe in the virus. It’s the same way I use my centrifuge cover and we wear two layers of masks in the lab. This is just—” I glance at the nearest respirator that seems to have more bells and whistles than actual lab equipment. “—way more high tech.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Well, I’m not supposed to go in there.” He gestures toward the airlock door that no doubt leads to a decontamination room. “But come on back out here, and I’ll show you where I can go.”

“Okay.”

He leads me out of the HCL and into another set of doors to the left. “In here, they call it the ‘open lab’. I guess it’s safe to work in here—at least no one told me I couldn’t empty the trash.” He shrugs.

Two men stand outside the doors, though they aren’t in soldier uniforms like the guys out front. Even so, they scream ‘security’ in the way they stand, like they’re waiting to get jumped. They don’t so much as look at us as we walk by, their dark suits giving them a twin vibe.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” I push through the doors and into a lab. The space is huge, the ceiling high overhead, but lights have been suspended at lower levels to make the entire area bright. There are a few rows of tables and several glass-front cabinets along the walls, each of them filled with a wealth of supplies. And one corner of the space is taken up by a glass room, respirators and a suit hanging outside of it. Everything is here. Absolutely everything I could need to continue my research and actually find a way to beat the plague. Hope, just a tiny thread of it, starts to spool around my heart.

“It’s her.” A woman backs her wheelchair away from a desk and rolls over. “Dr. Clark, right?”

“Yes, but you can call me Georgia.” I glance around the room. There are only a few people working. Where’s the rest of the team? There should be dozens, maybe hundreds of scientists.

The woman approaching me smiles, and it reaches her big green eyes over the top of her mask. “Cool. I’m Gretchen. Epidemiologist.”

Another woman pulls away from her microscope and two men walk over from their respective desks. Gretchen points to the first man with shaggy brown hair. “This is Wyatt. Then Aang. And that’s Evie.”

I look at each of them in turn and try not to fidget as they stare back. “Um, you’ve already met Gene,” I offer. “He’s my assistant.”

“Hello again.” Gene smiles.

Aang crosses his arms in front of him, the deep wrinkle between his eyes likely a permanent feature. “Yeah, he kept coming by yesterday trying to destroy my workspace.”

I glance at his desk. It’s covered in papers and various medical journals in haphazard stacks. I bet it makes Gene itch from just looking at all the mess.

“I don’t need the help,” Aang adds with a bit of a glower.

“Where’s everyone else? Already at lunch?” I ask, even though it’s first thing in the morning.

“Oh, um, no.” Gretchen shakes her head. “It’s just us here. Director Hamberg handpicked us, but he didn’t tell us anything else. Just that we would come here and research the cure. Stay isolated. Focus on the work.”

“He didn’t seem too happy about it either,” Wyatt adds. “But I guess those were his orders from the top.”

‘The top’, meaning my sister.

“So, you’re in charge?” Evie, a tall blonde with striking brown eyes, asks. She’s older, maybe mid-40s, but she has a bounce to her step. Peppy, almost.

“Me? I wouldn’t say I’m in charge. No.”

“That’s not the briefing we got.” Aang turns his glower on me.

“Go easy,” Gretchen hisses, then tucks her bright pink hair behind her ear. “We’re good with all that. Chain of command or whatever. It’s not a big deal.”

Aang’s resentful look doesn’t quite match with what Gretchen’s saying, but I shrug it off. We stand in silence for a while, the awkward growing like a colony of bacteria in a Petri dish.

Gretchen clears her throat. “Okay, so we work like this—the virus cells come to us already pre-generated and in a monoculture in each dish. I inspect the samples and do the data workup on the front end. If we need to refine the samples more, Wyatt suits up and does all that in the HCL next door.”

Wyatt, the lean, shaggy-haired man, gives me a mock salute. “I also play some mellow tunes for all of us to vibe to.” He hitches a thumb at the record player on his desk.

Gretchen continues, “After that, we each take our set of samples and get to work. I could give you a rundown of our findings so far, but that would probably take a month, at the least. Suffice it to say, this virus is smallpox on steroids. It’s horseshoe-like structure and ability to infect more than simply the nucleus of the host cell—” She throws her hands up. “Well, you know the rest. I’ve seen some of your data out of Austin.”

“You have?” I focus on Gretchen, at least she seems to be the most receptive to my presence. “I didn’t think anyone actually checked my findings. I’ve been working on the envelope. I feel like that’s the key, but I’ve yet to find any way to break it down without killing the surrounding cells. The virus is too cytopathic.”

“We started there, then realized that even if we pierce the envelope, the replication proceeds at the same pace, possibly even faster,” Evie says then tosses her long hair over her shoulder. “By the way, I read your paper on angiotensin-converting enzyme statins onCoronavirus Epoch in the New England Journal of Medicine two years ago. Solid.” She offers her fist.

“Wow.” I hesitantly reach out and bump it. “Thanks.”

Aang rolls his eyes. “Kiss ass.”

Gretchen moves closer, her eyes going wide. “So, about Juno’s Miracle …”

Valen. She’s asking about Valen. Whatever rapport I was just building deflates like a sad balloon. “I don’t know any more than you do.”

Aang scoffs. “Sure you don’t.” He points a finger at me. “I swear to god if we’re here and this whole ‘cure’ thing is just a bullshit campaign promise from your sister—smoke and mirrors for the cameras—I’ll?—”

Gene edges up to get in front of me. “I wouldn’t keep going with that, son.” His voice is sterner than I’ve ever heard it. “Especially not with that finger-pointing nonsense. Keep your powder dry.”

The wrinkle between Aang’s eyes turns into a chasm. “The whole thing is impossible. Blood isn’t magic. We all know it, but we’re so damn desperate to grab onto something, anything , that we’ll jump at the chance for snake oil. That’s what your sister was betting on, and now here we are, standing around with our dicks in our hands.” He scoffs at Gene. “Oh, back off. I wouldn’t touch a hair on her mousy head. At ease, soldier.”

“It’s not snake oil. I was there when it happened.” I glance back at the doors and try to ignore the ‘mousy’ insult. “The guy from the press conference is supposed to be here for us to draw his blood, and then we’ll all see what we’re working with. We’ll all know the truth.”

“When?” Aang asks.

“Now, I guess.” I glance at my watch. “Or maybe in an hour or so. Soon. But he’ll be here.” I’m just talking out of my ass at this point. I have no clue if or when he’ll show up.

“Don’t mind Aang. He’s all bark.” Evie smirks.

He turns and lets out a rather realistic ‘woof’ at her. “Bitch.” But he doesn’t say it with any rancor.

“You love me. Anyway, what’s the plan?” Evie backs away toward her desk. “I’m a decent stick, so I can take the samples from him. Wait, do you remember how many vials I can get before I have to stop? Don’t want to kill the guy on the first go. It’s been a while since I’ve had to get so hands-on with someone.”

Aang snorts a laugh. “Facts.”

“Oh, shut up.” She turns and heads toward a supply cabinet. “We’ll need to send a few vials off to Atlanta via same-day courier—I think it’s the Marines? Anyway, Atlanta wants a crack at it, too.”

“They don’t have a shot. Not on my watch.” Aang turns and swaggers away. “I got this.”

“I’ll process the samples in the HCL for us to work on.” Wyatt, who speaks more quietly than any of the others, stares expectantly at the door. “Once he gets here.”

My phone beeps, and I sling my backpack around to my front to dig it out. I have a text from an unknown number.

“Your cell is working?” Gretchen digs around in her pocket and pulls hers out. “SOS for me. Damn.”

I’m waiting. Ninth floor.

Huh? I stare at my phone. “What’s on the ninth floor?” I ask.

“Up there?” Wyatt leans against one of the long tables. “I think it’s called like the Washington Suite or something. I don’t know.”

“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. “My situation ? 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 of what ?” 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.”

“Whoa.” I eye the vial. “That’s not—this isn’t going to work. I need to take a blood sample from you . Not whatever is in that vial. I can’t even be sure it’s yours.” I glare at him. “And I don’t report to you .”

“And yet.” He holds out the glass tube, his arm as still as a stone on level ground. “This is what you get.”

“No.”

“No?” He seems almost amused, though no smile crosses his lips. “You don’t want my help?”

“I want you to give me what Juno agreed to.”

“You haven’t the slightest idea what your sister agreed to.” He lays the vial on the table and stands. “I’ll return this evening. I expect you here and waiting for me when I arrive.” He strides down the other side of the table.

“I’m not a dog who does your bidding.” I stand and follow him. “What the hell is your problem?”

“There won’t be a problem as long as you do exactly as I’ve told you.” The elevator opens as he approaches. Turning, he meets my eyes as the doors begin to close. “Oh, and be careful with that sample. It will degrade quickly if you mishandle it.” Then he’s gone.

Mishandle it? “What the fuck?” I shake my head and grab my phone, stabbing the screen with verve as I hit Juno’s quick dial.

“Hey, Professor.” Candice answers Juno’s phone as I pull off my mask.

Despite my irritation, I still feel a surge of warmth just hearing her voice. “You finally made it to town?”

“Yep. I’m glad I missed the inauguration. There’s no way I could outrun a bullet at my age.”

“I’m glad, too. It would’ve been tough lugging you up the steps.” I wander back through the apartment and sit on one of the fluffy couches near the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Where’s Juno?”

“Flip on your TV.”

“My TV?” I look around and find the remotes neatly lined up on a table to my left. After a few tries, the painting above the fireplace flickers and becomes an image of Juno. “—these resorts are entirely optional, but they are necessary for us to develop a cure. Ask yourself what you would give to see our nation thriving, your loved ones happy, the world the way it should be. We can accomplish all that and more if you volunteer to serve your country. At this very moment, our top scientists are working on a cure. Not a vaccine, not simply a treatment, a cure for the plague. But they need blood supply volunteers to make it work. Volunteers like you.” She smiles at me, her gaze following the words on the teleprompter as her face turns more serious once again. “Now, keep in mind, if you volunteer for this important task, you have zero risk of contracting the Sierravirus at our treatment locations. Let me say that again—you will not be exposed to the Sierravirus whatsoever at these resorts, and in fact, all volunteers will be tested several times before being admitted. All that’s required is for you to agree to a one-month stay at any resort around the country of your choosing.” A series of images float across the screen of smiling people lounging in pools, some of them skiing, others snorkeling. “You will be compensated for your travel, your time, and you will be given every amenity to make your stay enjoyable. If you have questions or would like to sign up, please visit the White House website and fill out the simple form. Thank you for your patriotism and your sacrifice. May God Bless the United States.”

The image goes to a still shot of the presidential seal as I sit dumbfounded. What. The. Fuck ?

“Professor, you still there?” I jump at Candice’s voice. I’d forgotten I was still on the phone with her.

“What was that? What resorts?”

“Search me.” She sighs. “Doesn’t sound so bad, though, does it? Like a vacation.”

I try to come up with a reason, some explanation for why Juno would create such a program. There is none, at least, none that makes sense. “But we don’t need blood, Candice. Researchers have been able to grow the virus in cell cultures for almost two years. Besides, why would we need blood samples from people who don’t have the plague?”

“You always got blood samples from the hospital in Austin,” she says.

“That’s because I didn’t have what I needed to grow my own cultures. Here, they have stacks of it. Enough for a million experiments.”

“I don’t know what all that means.”

“Let me talk to her.” I chew my lip so hard it stings.

“She’s not coming back to the office here.” Something creaks in the background, and Candice lets out a small huff. “She’s already on the helipad. I can see her out my window.”

“Without her phone? Is Fatima with her?”

“Hmmm. Let’s see. My eyes aren’t what they used to be. No. She’s alone. Not even Vince is with her. Wait, there’s someone else walking up.” Candice makes a disgruntled sound. “It’s that damned Dragonis. He’s boarding with her.”

A bad feeling settles in my stomach. “Where’s she going?”

“Let me check.” I hear some tapping. “I’m trying to get used to this new computer setup. I hate the mouse, and I should’ve brought my own keyboard. I like the clicking sound it makes… Um, looks like she’s blocked out two hours this morning, but it just says ‘unavailable’.”

“Shit. I need to talk to her.” A helicopter hums past overhead, and I know it must be her. Why would she leave her phone? And why the hell is Valen Dragonis on Marine One with her?

“Try again around lunch. It says she’s meeting with the Canadian PM at 12:30. Surely, she’ll have a moment to talk before that.”

“Right.” I’m not so certain. “Candice, if you hear anything else about these resorts, I want you to let me know. Okay?”

“Sure thing. Oh, shit. I think I clicked the wrong thing and there’s something ringing—what is that racket?” An alarm steadily sounds in the background. “I’ve got to go.”

“Bye,” I say, the line beeping twice as she hangs up.

I sit in silence for a while, my mind trying to process what Juno is doing with these ‘resorts’. Why would she be stockpiling blood and what does it have to do with the plague? And what really bothers me—why don’t I know anything about it? How has she managed to put all this together so quickly? A feeling in my gut tells me this is part of something bigger, something that’s been in the works long before we got to DC. What the fuck is going on?

Irritation—at Juno, at Valen, at that nearly useless blood sample in the dining room—runs through my veins like a streak of lightning.

“Ugh!” I stand and pace a little, then walk around the rest of the apartment. I wander past a kitchen with a nice-sized stove and other appliances, though I’m utter shit at cooking. When I enter a massive bedroom, I stop, my irritation turning to straight anger as I recognize my own snarled handwriting on several moving boxes. They’re all here, stacked neatly at the foot of the king-sized bed. Every last thing I brought with me from Austin.

I’ve been cast aside, and not for the first time in my life.

I walk to the bed and sit heavily, my gaze snagging on a glimpse of a fancy bathroom with huge soaking tub. My toiletries box is perched on the edge of the wide vanity. Obviously, none of this is coincidence. Not Valen’s demands, not Juno’s absence or the way she’s been ducking me for the past month. Hell, I only saw her for ten minutes at Christmas, and that was just so she could get a photo with me in front of the governor’s Christmas tree.

“She knew. This whole time.” I rub my cheeks with my palms. Valen wasn’t lying. Whatever agreement he has with Juno included this—whatever this is. Me stuck in this tower, not in the White House with my sister. She never intended to keep me close. This is my home now. Tears sting my eyes, but I lean my head back and will them to drain away. I stay that way for a while, refusing to let a single tear fall as my mind races and stumbles through every reason, every possibility.

Alone in this foreign place, I find no answers—and I realize I won’t until Juno finally decides to tell me the truth.