Chapter 3

While we waited for the shop to remake the snow globe, Lyra took me to a local arcade.

She knew exactly how I liked to decompress. She knew my favorite arcade games, and even which characters I always picked.

She bought me soft-serve ice cream, and just like she used to do when we were teenagers, she carefully scraped off the chocolate shell for me because she knew I hated it, eating the chocolate crumbs herself with a satisfied, closed-eye grin.

Aside from her using the trigger phrase "maple tree," I couldn’t find a single flaw in her behavior.

"Alana, the last time we celebrated my birthday together was five years ago, wasn't it?" she asked over dinner, preempting any test I might have planned. "I went behind your back and applied for the undercover assignment. When you found out, you literally threw my birthday cake across the room. You screamed, you cried..."

She looked at me, her eyes pooling with nostalgic warmth. "Do you remember? I had to hold you and soothe you all night. I didn't sleep a wink."

I remembered. We had agreed that *I* would be the one to go undercover first.

Lyra had pretended to agree, but then she pulled strings and stole the assignment. She wanted to shield me from the darkness. She was always the strong, protective older-sister figure in my life.

But is that girl still alive?

I clenched my fists under the table, nails biting into my palms. "Of course I remember. We were supposed to be professional cops, but you treated me like a crying toddler."

"I was so desperate that I tried to call Director Miller to demand he swap us out. Do you remember what you did then?"

She laughed, a bright, genuine sound. "I snatched your phone, locked you in your bedroom, and by the time you broke the lock, I was already on a flight out of the country."

I tried to laugh along, but my face felt like a frozen mask.

The story about me throwing the cake was technically on file—Director Miller and a few close colleagues knew about it. But the detail about her locking me in my bedroom?

She had never told a soul. We had promised never to mention it because it was a massive violation of protocol.

How did she know that? How could she describe it with such chilling accuracy?

During my heavy silence, Lyra suddenly stood up, letting out a soft gasp.

"Oh, look at you," she chided gently, pulling a napkin from the holder. "You spent so long in the trenches that you completely forgot how to take care of yourself. The mission is over, Alana. You need to start thinking about your own life, your own future."

She leaned over and gently wiped a smudge of sauce from the corner of my mouth. Then, she tucked a rogue strand of hair behind my ear.

Her motherly tone, the gentle warmth of her fingertips sliding across my skin—it was all so painfully familiar.

I began to doubt myself. Was I losing my mind? Was I just being paranoid?

Just then, the waiter brought out our dessert. It was a warm, freshly baked Maple Pecan Pie.

I had ordered it on purpose.

I stared at her, watching her reaction like a hawk. I saw her freeze for a fraction of a second, and then her eyes welled with tears.

"My parents loved maple syrup," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Alana... if that maple tree in our yard was still alive, do you think they could taste the sweetness from up there?"

The warmth in my chest vanished instantly. A cold, hard clarity took its place.

She had mentioned the maple tree again.

Once. Twice. Three times.

She was absolutely, without a doubt, an impostor.

My instinct was to tackle her right there, call the tactical team still cleaning up the city, and beat her real identity out of her.

But I couldn't risk it. If the real Lyra was still alive somewhere, any sudden move could sign her death warrant.

I forced a tight, affectionate smile. I had to play along. I had to find out where Lyra was.

***