A sense of familiarity encased Jemina as she rode the elevator to the rooftop bar and club. She caught a guy staring at her and sent him a wink.
Despite her three-inch heels, she stayed steady onto the dance floor.
Up-tempo music drowned out her thoughts, and she consciously used it to keep her mind absolutely blank. Over time it got harder to keep that up, so she got help from Uncle Vodka and Aunt Fruit-Drinks-That-Get-You-Absolutely-Trashed.
Bright lights blurred and bodies stumbled as she had the best night yet in the weird lobster state of Maine.
Three hours later, however, the bartender refused to serve her any more and instead gave her a glass of water.
Sitting with her non-alcoholic drink, one thought got through to her. How Chua would tell her how unprofessional her behavior was.
Water and glass exploded in her hands.
The bartender asked if she was okay, but her feet were already running into the elevator and out onto the street. Blood dripped from her glass embedded hands, and she didn't even register the splinters until she looked at the shards. It seemed unreal, with no pain validating her sight.
For a second, the street lights morphed into dancing poles, but after she blinked a few times they were gone. She felt like she was floating just enough above the street never get a grip on the concrete.
Jemina tried to download Lyft, but her fingers could barely type that name into the AppStore.
Groaning, her rump sat down on the curb. Big, fat raindrops began to fall and stick to her skin. Why did she do this? Was that child really worth burning the bridges with her fake family?
Wait...was she really about to brush that child's pain under the rug for two middle-aged adults she'd known for like two weeks?
What was wrong with her?
Logically, she knew that being an agent came with power—the kind that attracted power-hungry people. But if the system didn't prosecute the bad apples, what was the point?
Or according to Anthony and Kelly, he wasn't a bad apple. He was "just doing his job." Was it possible that really was what he was doing?
No way. No situation required hurting a child.
The alcohol in her system was making it hard for her to sort through her thoughts and feelings. Maybe she shouldn't have downed those forty-percent vodka shots, she thought as she giggled to herself.
"Eva?"
She lifted her head from her hands to see Marin staring down at her along with two guys beside him. The yellow from the street light formed a halo around his head. A raindrop fell off his face.
"Hi."
"Your face!" He shooed away his friends and they went on without him. Marin knelt beside Jemina.
"Hey—I'm not that bad looking," she said, cracking up at her own joke.
Inches from her face, his brown eyes studied her profile. Millions of earthy hues were trapped in those eyes. "Okay, I can barely understand you, but there's blood all over your face."
Jemina held her breath as he caressed her face. When he pulled it back, crimson fluid was imprinted in his palm. His eyebrows were knitted together and he bit his lip.
She knew a good idea: tell him about everything. Her identity. What she's doing.
And she did.
A beat passed as he just stared at her before shaking his head. "Yep, there's no possible way to discern anything you're saying. Now, where's this blood coming from?"
"It's all probably from my hand." In case her speech was too slurred for him to understand, she raised her hand. A bit of clarity inside her was happy her incomprehensible voice prevented her from blowing her entire cover.
Marin swallowed. "Let's get you to urgent care."
"I can walk."
"What? Again, Eva, I can not understand you."
She stood up to demonstrate what she meant and promptly fell sideways—into a pole. Her knee scraped the ground a second before Marin grabbed her underarms and pulled her back up.
"Another cut? You're a flight risk."
Jemina laughed and threw her arms around Marin's neck. He adjusted her hands and then scooped the rest of her up.
Right before she fell asleep with her head in the crook of his neck, she smiled at his last statement.
"I'm never going to get the blood out of this shirt."
-
The nurse peered into Jemina's eyes with a flashlight. While the medical professional completed her examination, Jemina thought back to the car ride here. After Marin had put her down in his car, she secretly hadn't fallen back asleep. As street lights illuminated their fifteen-minute path, she just watched him drive. How his jaw had tightened whenever they hit a red light and he'd look back over at her, which made her immediately pretend to be asleep, and smile. How he—
"Ma'am, can you take your contacts out?"
Jemina shook her head vigorously. "No!"
"Okay," the nurse sighed—another crazy drunk at one A.M. "I'll be back with bandages."
Once the nurse had left, Marin walked up to the examination table. The effects of Jemina's last drink were starting to leave her, but she could swear he was glowing.
Marin put his hand on hers and started to say something, but the ringing in her ears drowned him out. A blurry picture of two of him waved a hand in front of her face.
She grabbed his hand and focused her eyes on his face to bring herself back to earth. "I'm sorry for ruining your night."
Her voice was finally clear.
"That's fine. This was more interesting than anything that could've happened in a club."
Jemina raised an eyebrow. "We have not been to the same clubs."
"Oh, really?"
She nodded confidently. "This is mild."
He raised his eyebrows. "Sure."
"You don't believe me?"
"Who would?"
Jemina flicked her gaze away. "I'm going to have to show you an actually wild time."
"Only if I don't have to carry you. I almost passed out myself."
Jemina's jaw dropped as she swatted at him. "That's terribly rude, but on the bright side, you got your exercise in for the week."
"You think I only exercise once a week?"
"With those arms? Absolutely."
"I can't believe you," he smiled. "Insulting your savior."
"What do you mean? I thanked you! We were both on equal ground when I started to insult you," she teased.
"Still can't believe you."
"Oh, well—"
The doctor entered the room with bandages, effectively ending their conversation. Her earlier statement had been true—this was the best night she had had in Maine.