Page 12 of Last Chance to Save the World

He glances at his cuff. “Are you in a hurry?”

“We don’t need additional eyes from the government on us right now.” I tap the timer.

“We have plenty of time.” Rian follows behind me. “This is...inconvenient, but in my defense, it’s a fairly standard practice for a global event that’s high-security,andI had no idea when the regulations were approved that we’d be doing...” He waves his hands in my general direction. “All of this.”

“It’s a dumbass rule that only someone who’s never had to rely on public transportation and walking would think is just ‘inconvenient,’” I snap. The time limits are ridiculous—if we’d missed the ferry and needed to take the next, we’d be sprinting to make it in time. But that’s not why I’m mad.

Bruna’s message had a veiled meaning, and the fact that my mother isexpectingme is going to complicate everything. It’s a sign things alreadyarecomplicated. More so than usual.

The sidewalks are crowded, and we dodge around people as auto-taxis roll through the streets. Half the buildings here are boarded up; the other half are so dusty that the windows are basically useless. The glass is laced with metal to prevent theft, and most of them display brightly lit signs with promises of deals and bargains, neon flashing in a desperate attempt to distract from decay.

I glance back at Rian after we get separated by a man pushing a cart full of yellow-green cabbages that are going to need to be scrubbed with a wire brush to remove the grime building up on them. Rian has a contemplative scowl all over his face, and he almost walks right past me.

I grab his hand and pull him into an alley that opens up to a path toward the cliffs.

Malta’s a Mediterranean island, but it’s not a beach resort, especially not here. The gray waves crash into cliffs, not beaches, and the trail I’m taking Rian on is a bit of a hike up. Once we’re away from the noise of the crowded streets, Rian says, “Well, after this, let’s hire transport into New Venice.”

I walk backward so I can look at him as I cross the small footbridge extending over an inlet. “You heard Bruna. My mother expects me to spend the night.”

Rian laughs. “You’re not twelve. You don’t have to stay there.”

“Okay, I confess,” I say. “Going to my mother’s house was not a part of Plan A, B, or C. But I can work with it. Plus, it’s free.”

“I can pay for a hotel.” His voice is low, and I can tell he’s reconsidering my countless and very obvious propositions.

“You may be able to afford a penthouse suite in New Venice, but can you afford a distraction the night before we do crime?”

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He follows me up the footpath and eventually says, “So, we’re already on Plan D? How many plans do you have?”

His tone is light. Good. Let him think this is easy.

“Forty-two, minimum,” I quip.

I may need Plan F before this is done. Plan F stands for “Fuck as much stuff up as possible and escape in the chaos.” It also means dropping at least half of my goals, which will put me in debt I can’t pay off and in...let’s just saybadstanding with my client.

“It’s only...” Rian starts.

“What?” My voice is a little too snappy right now. Mask, mask. I can’t let him see the truth, not so close to home. But my stomach hurts, and so do my back and my head, and I simply cannot seem to make myself able to concentrate where I need to concentrate.

“I looked, Ada,” Rian says. “I looked at all the records.”

Of course he did. “And?”

“And there was almost nothing on your mother.”

The climb is getting a little steeper now. “Not everything is a conspiracy theory. You know my parents both worked in conservation. After Yellowstone exploded, Mom moved into government work before she retired. It’s why she lives here.”

And, as Rian knows, government workers are not as easy to access. He could have snooped, of course—he certainly has the clearance to check on almost anyone’s records. But he was so focused on researching my sordid yet delightful past that he didn’t veer down the paths that would have told him more about my mother’s records. I hope.

We stick close to the coast, despite the stench of pollution. Once, the most expensive houses were along the shore. It was a luxury to be able to look at the ocean from your bedroom window. But that was when the water was clean and beautiful. Now the most valuable land is in the center of the island, as far away from the stink as possible.

“What’s that?” Rian asks, pointing to a short, square tower right on the edge of the cliff overlooking the water.

“That’s where we’re going.” I lead the way, taking a path that’s older than anyone can remember, the stone steps up the cliff worn away in the center.

“There?”

No need to sound so incredulous.

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