“Corretto alla lavanda,” I repeat.
“Yes, it’s a lavender-spiked espresso—”
“Spiked?” I squeak. “I can’t drink that.”
“You don’t need todrinkit, just order it. The courier will recognize the order. Set your phone on the counter when you pick up your drink. He’ll do the same and swap them.”
“He’s taking my phone?”
When I first started working for Athena, I assumed I’d get one of those burner phones like in the movies—something preloaded with encrypted apps and absolutely zeroCandy Crush. But she told me carrying two phones would be suspicious. So instead, she taught me how to encrypt my texts and cloak my browser history. Which is why this freaks me out. Because if I know how to keep a message safe but she still wants my entire phone swapped, that means the risk isn’t just digital—it’s physical. “Why?”
The pause is long enough to make my stomach do backflips. “The information you’ve given us is... valuable.”
My brain, like the little capitalist it is, immediately translates her comment into dollar signs. I’m not proud of it, but rent is due, and charity doesn’t pay off student loans or cover my mom’s spending habits.
“I can’t say more, except we need the information on your phone. It takes precedence over everything else.”
It’s not the first time Athena has kept the details to herself, but it’s the first time it has felt like there’s more hanging in the balance of the nondisclosure. “How serious is this?”
“The less you know, the better. For now,” Athena quickly adds. “You’re not in any immediate danger. We’ve got eyes on you.”
I immediately look around my bathroom like someone might be crouched behind the shower curtain with binoculars and a croissant. “You do?”
“Of course, Cybil. We know who you’re dealing with. We don’t take chances. Our man has been watching you.”
My eyes flick to the soggy blue tracksuit on the floor, and mortification curls my toes. “So you, um, know about yesterday in town?”
“Yes.”
I groan. Fantastic. Was an image of me looking like an Italian salad being passed around the agency group chat?Last night with Ben.“Do you have someone inside the villa?”
“No one but you,” Athena answers, but leaves it hanging like she has more to say.
“What is it?”
“There might be... another issue,” Athena says carefully. “After you told us what you overheard last night between Ramirez and yourfriend, we’re looking into him. And what we’ve found—or haven’t found—is concerning.”
I freeze. The other thing I told Athena about was the conversation I overhead—or the bits and pieces of it—between Ben and Ramirez. “Concerning how?”
“Craig Miller’s identity is shallow. That’s expected. But Bennett Bradley? What wecanfind feels generic. A little vanilla.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that until we know more, you need to be careful. Don’t trust him.”
Right. No trusting the maybe-criminal with the world’s best jawline. Got it.
“Just get your phone to the courier. We’ll do the rest.”
“Got it.”
Athena hangs on the line for a few seconds. “Is everything okay?”
Defineokay. If I don’t count the unresolved feelings for Ben, then yeah, I’m just dandy. “Yeah. Just... need to get moving.”
“Cybil?”
“Yeah?”
