Persona by Genevieve Valentine

disappeared. Magnus knew how to stay a step ahead of complications.
    She could not, as much as she tried, imagine Magnus meeting someone in an alley, handing them her headshot, and saying, “We’ll be there at half past two. Make sure you don’t shoot me once you open fire.”
    She was almost sure he had grabbed her elbow just after the first shot, before she fell, as if to pull her out of the way.
    (If he’d grabbed her elbow before the shot because he’d known it was coming, then she’d have a word with him after this was over.)
    There were quieter ways to get rid of her. They could have sent her on a home tour, paid out her contract, and brought in the next Face in line. They could even have brought her home and killed her there; Faces were forcibly retired sometimes, when they’d outlived their usefulness, and nothing came of it. A Face dying on home soil was nobody else’s business.
    Magnus wouldn’t turn her into a martyr bleeding out on the streets of Paris. That was just bad marketing. He was quieter than that, and he picked only the best for the job. If he’d set it up, she’d already be dead.
    It was more surprising that she’d been publicly declared kidnapped. That angle showed somebody desperate to close the deal. The Chordata agents had no way of knowing how strange it was, but IA internal protocol assumed three days’ leeway before kidnapping was officially considered. Sometimes Faces got tired of the game and dropped off the map; it happened often enough that they gave you seventy-two hours to wear yourself out and come home again.
    Someone in the IA stood to benefit from discrediting the UARC, then, in case she should suddenly appear and make any damning statements.
    She tried to forget about the Chordata strangers in the living room, about Daniel in the bedroom. She opened drawers in the cabinet where nothing touched.
    Face relationships were kept under wraps until papers were signed, in case negotiations broke down. The only people from the IA who’d even known about her meeting with Ethan were the IA Ethics Committee that had looked over the contract, Magnus, and Ethan’s team.
    Chordata could have wanted to kill her, if they thought she’d been compromised. They’d want her to take her secrets to the grave.
    But Chordata was a secret that mattered; a secret she’d kept even from Hakan.
    Ã—  ×  ×  ×  ×  ×  ×
    He might have guessed, once, the morning three years ago when he woke her to tell her Chordata had struck the American mining outpost and there was nothing left.
    When she asked, “Was anyone hurt?” he gave her an odd look before he said, “The buildings were empty, don’t worry.”
    After that it was a scramble to look decent before Margot arrived with the Central Committee’s comments, and Hakan watched her tying back her ponytail, took breath for half a dozen sentences he never uttered.
    (If he’d ever guessed, it must have been just at that moment; he had the face of a man who had underestimated someone he loved.)
    The Committee’s comments were specific. Margot delivered them herself.
    â€œYou must condemn this action,” Margot said, her face expressionless, her voice like a radio spot. “Terrorist activity will not be tolerated in the IA. It’s bad enough that this has happened at such a delicate time for the UARC’s reputation—Hakan, we’ll discuss this later. There will have to be an immediate response. We’ve scheduled a press conference for you in an hour—we’ll send a stylist up.”
    â€œThank you,” said Hakan, at the same time Suyana said, “No.”
    She’d been so terrified that it was hardly a word, more a desperate breath she pressed her lips around, but it sounded like a shot in the little sitting room, and when Margot turned to look at her Suyana felt like she’d