Katharine McGee - The Towering Sky

“I have to go,” Rylin said abruptly. “Keep me posted if anything happens. And be careful.”

Leda was still pointedly refusing to look at Watt. “Thanks for letting us meet here, Avery.”

Watt nodded good-bye to Avery before following quickly on Leda’s heels. “Leda,” he called out, but she just kept walking down the Fullers’ long entryway, her footsteps quickening. Her heels echoed on the white marble tiles with their black border.

She’s avoiding you , Nadia pointed out unnecessarily.

Watt started running. “Leda!” he tried again, not that it would be any use—the elevator doors were opening, and she was hurriedly retreating inside.

He just barely managed to squeeze into the elevator before the heavy brass doors shut behind him with a resounding click. He didn’t have much time. Just the length of a single elevator ride, to convince the girl he loved that they had to see each other again.

“Hey, Leda.” He said it nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just chased her down a hallway after a discussion about a murder investigation . As if it wasn’t a big deal that they were alone in the same space for the first time in months. Close enough to touch. Breathing the very same air. “We need to talk.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Not about us .” Watt attempted to force a beat of normalcy into his voice, which was pretty much impossible. “I meant about this Mariel stuff. I want to help.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I only wanted to warn—”

“Warn us, yeah, I got it.” Watt leaned forward, bracing his arm against the elevator’s wall so he effectively boxed Leda in. “You need my help, Leda.”

“No, I don’t ,” she insisted, ducking under his arm and retreating to the opposite side of the elevator. “Besides, Watt, this isn’t something you can hack your way out of.”

“Sure it is,” Watt said automatically, though he wasn’t actually sure where he would start. “Unless you already hired another hacker? Tell me who it is, so I can sabotage them.” He meant it as a joke, but the delivery was all wrong.

“I can’t afford to be spending time with you,” Leda said quickly. “It’s too risky—it could spark all my problematic behaviors, and if I spiral out of control again, my parents will send me to boarding school. I don’t want to risk it, okay?” A vein pulsed in her throat.

“Look, I’m sorry that I’m some kind of human trigger.” Watt sighed. “But you should know that I’m going to keep working on this either way. You’re not the only one who has a lot to lose, if those secrets get out.”

“I really am sorry. I never wanted you to get involved.” Leda seemed a bit softer. She’d been all sharp angles when he first stepped into the elevator, but now some of those angles were sanded down.

“I am involved, like it or not,” Watt said, trying to focus on his words and not how maddeningly close she was. “We can work separately on this, or we can combine forces. You know what they say, two brains are better than one.” In this case, maybe three were better than two, if you counted Nadia.

They reached the 990th-floor landing with a soft click, and the doors hissed open. Leda didn’t get out yet.

“All right,” she said, as gloriously prideful as ever. “I guess we can work together on this. You can be useful when you want to be.”

Watt knew that was the most eloquent request for assistance he was likely to get. Leda Cole never revealed vulnerability, and she never asked for help.

He felt a flush of eager excitement. No matter what she said—no matter the circumstances in which they were seeing each other again—he refused to believe that they were over. He was still Watt Bakradi, and she was still Leda Cole, and they deserved another shot.

He was going to take advantage of every minute he got to spend with her. Whatever it took, Watt swore, he would win Leda back.

“THANKS FOR COMING with me,” Avery said softly, as she and Max walked down the high-ceilinged gallery of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

“Of course I came. I’ve missed you,” Max replied, even though he’d seen her only two days ago. He reached up to adjust his skinny linen scarf, which was covered in a scrolling red batik print. “Besides, the point of me staying in New York was to see all the places that matter to you, and this one is clearly high on the list.”

Avery nodded, a little surprised that Max didn’t realize how shaken and unsettled she felt. He seemed to think that this was just a spontaneous museum outing. But Avery had come here to clear her head. She was still reeling from that unexpected meeting yesterday, and Leda’s revelation that Mariel’s death was now under investigation. Now that her family’s entrance to the roof was closed, the trapdoor in their pantry sealed off, the Met was the only place Avery felt like she could escape.

The museum rose alongside the bubble of Central Park, its iconic pillars overlooking the diamond of the softball fields and the famous pale-pink ice rink that was always frozen, no matter the season. Supposedly the rink had been meant to change colors, but it froze at this shade of pink the week the park opened—and in that typical New York way, now no one would ever dream of changing it.

Avery took a deep breath. You could taste the difference in the air, in here: It was completely sterile to protect the art from oxidation or corrosion. The whole entrance to the museum felt oddly like a vacuum chamber, as if you were stepping into space, some grand new universe of artistic beauty.

“How was your first week?” she asked Max, trying her best to sound normal.

“It was incredible. Dr. Wilde is an even better lecturer than I expected! She’s actually agreed to read my thesis herself, instead of assigning it to a TA.”

Avery smiled. “That’s fantastic, Max.”

“And last night I went to a party in my hallway,” he went on, his eyes dancing. Max remained amused by the way American college students partied in whatever spaces were available to them, their parties spilling out into study rooms and dorm kitchens. “You’re going to love my neighbors, Avery. One of them is a sculpture student named Victoria who specializes in spun-wire.” He stumbled over the phrase, as if scared that he didn’t know what it meant, then declared, “I told her all about you.”

Avery reached to twine her fingers in his. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

Max had moved into one of the Columbia dorms on the 628th floor. Avery was secretly glad that he hadn’t asked to stay at the Fullers’ apartment. Her parents would never have allowed it. They had three guest suites, but no one actually used them, not even Avery’s grandparents when they came to visit. The rooms were just additional square footage meant to display Mrs. Fuller’s extensive collection of antiques, each surface carefully arranged with ceramic Staffordshire dogs or terra-cotta Chinese figures or blue-and-white Delft candlesticks. Each room had been featured in Architectural Digest or Glamorous Homes at least once. Besides, Avery had thought, it would be kind of weird having her boyfriend live down the hall from her and her parents.

She didn’t exactly have a good track record of dating boys who lived on the thousandth floor.

But to her relief, Max seemed absolutely thrilled to be living in a tiny dorm room. He kept talking about what an authentic, important part of the study abroad experience it was, to be immersed in school life. Already it sounded as if he’d made friends with everyone in his hall, and found the nearest coffee shop and twenty-four-hour diner.

They headed down the Impressionist wing. Light spilled through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the broad canvases with their loose, spontaneous brushstrokes. Avery had always loved the Impressionists, if only for their manic obsession with color. None of their works had a drop of white or black paint. If you looked closely, you would realize that even the shadows, even the eyelashes , were done in greens or purples or shades of bronze.