Epilogue

“We’re out of milk!” I yelled as I slammed the refrigerator door closed. “I thought Keira bought some last night?”

“No, she stayed at the hospital late, didn’t get back till after midnight.” Marcus stepped into the kitchen, holding his tiny espresso cup. “You don’t need milk.”

“Not everyone likes their coffee in a shot glass.” I pecked his lips. “I’ll buy some on campus.”

I slid my laptop into my backpack and zipped it closed. “You ready to go?”

Marcus yanked the strap of his guitar case over his head and chugged the last sip of his espresso. “Sí. Vamonos.”

I grabbed my pointy umbrella beside the door as Marcus slid up the hood of his raincoat and we stepped outside, locking the apartment behind us. It always rained in Seattle, but I’d grown to like it. Love it even. It reminded me of Prague and London and my friends. I never thought I’d miss that life, and I didn’t, not really, but I missed the people.

It had been five months since my parents drove off in an ambulance forever, and they’d delivered on their promises. The world thought they were dead. Julian made sure of it. The Stone Media Group aired a two-hour prime-time event on the rise and fall of the “Spies Who Ruled the World,” featuring exclusive interviews with Carlos and Rosario Rey. The final minutes showed three body bags, one unzipped to clearly display Randolph Urban’s face. That was enough to make the world assume my parents were in the other two. It was also enough to make Julian Stone the next Walter Cronkite. He was now the most famous newsman in all of Europe, if not the world, and I turned on cable programs often to catch a glimpse of my old friend, and to see Charlotte’s name in the credits. She was billed as a “Research Analyst” on all of his major news specials, which was a fancy way of saying she was still being paid as a hacker. Research was research, even if it was accessed illegally, so I guess that wasn’t technically disinformation.

Their wedding was set for next year. Keira and I were to be bridesmaids. Last I’d heard, the reception was being held in a medieval castle. Bono was on the guest list.

“Everything set for dinner?” Marcus asked as we stepped into the quad of the University of Washington.

September in Seattle. It was different than back in Boston. The trees didn’t turn to the colorful hues of oil paintings, and the air didn’t feel as crisp, partially because it was never dry. But it had the same feel of a college town—ornate buildings, grassy lawns, wide brick sidewalks, and students lounging beneath trees. Only in Washington, the trees had cherry blossoms. It was starting to feel like home, and we’d officially be celebrating our first milestone in our new hometown. Keira was turning twenty-six.

“Yes, I called the restaurant. They have the cake, and at least three nurses are coming, so they’re giving us a big table in the back,” I told Marcus as he held my hand and walked me to my first class of the day.

Marcus and I both got our high school diplomas online; Charlotte wasn’t kidding when she said she’d make sure her guardianship duties were fulfilled. I got straight As in the accelerated summer program, and with the help of Julian’s father—who seemed capable of pulling strings even in universities across the pond—Marcus and I were able to enroll as freshmen in time for the fall semester. Our tuition was paid in full by the estate left to me by my biological father. Turned out the U.S. Government didn’t think it fair to seize all of Urban’s assets; some were obtained through his legal Dresden businesses, and Martin Bittman made sure the money was viewed as compensation for my “time and suffering.” I was not too proud to accept, especially if it meant my sister and I could start fresh, without Julian paying our way, and without Keira needing to sell her story (and her soul) to any more tabloids.

“Keira Phoenix, reality star” was officially gone. She broke up with Ridge immediately upon our return from Prague, if they were ever really going out. She cancelled her book deal and her impending reality show, and she fired her publicist. She no longer did interviews. She didn’t even go on social media anymore, neither of us had online accounts—except for school and work-related email. Internet trolls and comment sections were gone from our lives. Keira was a nurse again. Her name badge said “Keira Westbrook.” She’d legally changed it. We both did. Not because we wanted to deny our parents or where we came from, but because we thought we deserved a fresh start without sidelong looks. We earned one. And Tyson Westbrook deserved to have his name carried on.

So far, not one student showed any recognition of our past lives, and Keira’s hospital coworkers seemed to agree on a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy. It also helped that my sister changed her hair color on a monthly basis, like a newfound hobby. She was harder to recognize. In honor of her birthday, it was dyed a grayish pink. Last week, it had been auburn.

“I’ll pick up her present after class,” Marcus reminded me as we strolled, his thumb caressing the antique key wrapped around my finger. “It’s on hold under your name, no?”

I nodded. I’d bought my sister a gold K initial ring to replace the one she’d lost in Tuscany. The font was a little different, and it was accented by a real diamond (not a topaz), but I knew how much she missed the one I’d originally given her, five years ago today. And it was nice to remember how far we’d come and what we’d lived through to get here.

“Is Antonio coming?” I asked, giving Marcus a look.

“Don’t worry, he’s keeping his distance.”

Antonio was living in Vancouver, less than a three-hour drive away, and working security on Hollywood movie sets. Detective Dawkins helped him get the gig. She was officially reinstated on the Boston police force, after a new commissioner was put in place to “clean house” of officers with ties to Department D. She was taking her Sergeant exam next month, and as a thank you for everything Antonio did to help her stop the evil corporation corrupting her city (and her police force), she asked a cousin in Canada to get Antonio his first legitimate job. Now he and Marcus had dinner every other Sunday, and each spoke to their parents once a week. Given their good behavior, and their overwhelming cooperation providing evidence to law enforcement, it was very likely the Reys would be released from prison a lot sooner than anyone expected. There was hope.

Keira and Antonio were not back together. My sister insisted she wasn’t going to date anyone for a solid year, and so far she’d gone five months without a single date, which was impressive given that an odd percentage of the doctors at Seattle’s Mercy East Hospital looked like they’d stepped out of an Abercrombie ad. But her pledge didn’t stop Antonio from trying. Last time he was in town for dinner, he and Keira sat at the kitchen table longer than necessary as they finished a bottle of wine. Marcus had to drag me from the room.

It wasn’t that I was holding a grudge against Antonio (well, it wasn’t entirely because of that), it was that for the first time in over a year my sister was standing up straight, shoulders back, smile on her face, and confidence in her heart. She was a nurse in the ER again. She was talking about applying to med school. She’d made new friends. She wasn’t waiting by the phone, desperate for it to ring. She wasn’t reading online comments, or looking for anyone’s validation. She didn’t need Antonio. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want him.

“Do you know if Antonio got her a present?” I asked, head tilted, my hair falling over my shoulder. It was longer than it had been in a long time, nearly down to my waist. It no longer bothered me that the style made me look like my mother. In fact, if I were being honest, it might be why I didn’t cut it. Everything that happened was still a part of me. They were a part of me.

“I choose to remain silent.” Marcus gave me a wry smile.

“If he got her jewelry…” I growled.

“What? I got you jewelry.” He squeezed the key ring on my finger.

“Yeah, but we’re together.”

Marcus gave me a look like I was fighting the inevitable. Maybe I was. But they weren’t together yet. And her last boyfriend was still on the loose.

Craig Bernard was somewhere free in the world. He’d escaped Julian’s compound nearly the moment we left for Prague. As suspected, he was living in the basement willingly. It took little effort for him to break his restraints and disarm Julian’s guards. He simply was fulfilling his promise to the Reys while hiding out from our parents’ wrath. Once we set out for Prague to stop them all, he took his cue to leave. I didn’t know where he was now, or if he was even alive. With any luck he was sharing a cell in a CIA prison with Sophia Urban. Her name was never mentioned in the news. The world had no idea she put the bullet in her grandfather’s chest, that she was really aiming for Keira, and that he jumped in front of her gun to save me. They didn’t know how long the blood coated my sister's hands before she had a chance to wash them. Keira tried to save his life, the man who took her hostage.

And we didn’t talk about him anymore. We didn’t talk about our parents much, either. We were trying to put it behind us. Everyone was safe now, even Regina. As promised, her family received a large hunk of cash as part of my parents’ immunity deal, and she hadn’t made a single video since her return from Prague—at least not on YouTube. I still lurked around her other social media sites. She didn’t speak to me anymore, but I was happy when I saw her hair had grown into a smooth bob, and she’d joined a tennis club at Boston College. She was living on campus.

This was the life we wanted—for all of us. We were finally okay. All those times Marcus and I walked on college campuses, all those times I gazed longingly at carefree college students, now I was one of them. I was studying prelaw (I figured the Phoenixes might need a good lawyer in the family one day), and Marcus was studying music. He wanted to teach guitar, and he was auditioning for local bands. I listened to him strum every night before bed; it was the most romantic sound in the world, that and the sound of him breathing next to me while we slept.

We stopped in front of the building that led to my criminal justice class. “I’ll meet you after,” he promised.

“I’ll be here,” I replied.

He pulled down his hood, and I lowered my umbrella to kiss him, light rain misting our cheeks. I slid my hand into his hair, I loved the way his hair felt wet, and pressed my body into his.

He groaned. “Don’t do that. I have to go.”

“Fine,” I whined, pushing him away, though I wanted to do anything but.

He smiled at me, a look that said he was already thinking about later, then turned toward class. I watched him walk away, raising my umbrella to shield me from the drizzle once more. It was starting to pick up, blurring my vision, and I moved toward my building when a shift of movement caught my eye—a car. It was brown and old, idling behind a cherry tree, its gray exhaust pumping through the rain. Two figures sat in the front seat, a man in a baseball cap and a woman with long hair.

I squinted and moved toward it on autopilot, my rain boots stomping through a puddle, but the car drove off before I got close.

It was a car on a crowded college campus. It could have been anyone.

Or it could have been them.

I guess I’d always be looking for them, waiting for their return.

I had a feeling, someday, they’d come back, rising from the ashes.

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