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the fact that Amman was teeming with life. Like the Damascus of her memory, the city came alive at night. Children ran and played on the sid ewalks, their parents unfazed by the late hour; kebab stalls perfumed the air with the scent of roasted meat; people sat at small cafes along the street, sipping thick Arabic coffee. Marya struggled to keep sight of Luke as they walked further into downtown Amman. Many shops were still open, many merchants still hawking their wares. There was so much to see, so much to take in. 
    She was nearly distracted by a shop of colored glass lamps when she saw Luke turn into a narrow alley. She picked up her pace, afraid to lose him. The street was narrow and smelled of m anure. Ahead, everything was dark and quiet, doors and windows shut. It looked to be a dead end. A stray cat scampered across her feet, startling her.
    Where did he go?
    "Marya Helwe." She squealed and spun around, a hand on her heart. Luke stood against the wall behind her, hidden in the shadows. His jaw was tensed, but his eyes were curious. "Why are you following me?" he asked softly.
    She waited until her heart stopped racing to answer him. "I saw you leave last night. I was... curious."
    He took a step forward. "You know what they say about curiosity. The cat and all that." He pulled a cigarette and lighter from his satchel, lighting up casually. She noticed the black-checkered headcloth, the keffiyeh , draped around his neck. A fashion statement? Or a political one?
    For some reason, she was getting nervous again. After all, what did she know about Edward Lucas Marshall? And now he looked downright dangerous, taking the hoodlum thing to new levels. "Is that a threat?" Marya said as calmly as possible.
    He blew a stream of smoke from his mouth and smiled. "A warning. It isn't safe for you to be wandering alone in the city at night."
    "You're doing it," Marya shot back.
    "I'm a guy. And not one afraid of a fight, either. Here, come with me." He led her out of the alleyway and to a tiny cafe across the street. They sat down at a plastic table and Luke ordered some tea. He finished his cigarette and squashed it in the ashtray on the tabletop.
    "If you're going to sneak out of ACMER and wander around Amman, there are a few things you should know," he said, ru mmaging in his satchel. He pulled out a small Canadian flag and passed it to her. "Put this on your bag, or backpack, or whatever. In clear sight. If anyone asks, you're a Canadian, eh? Not a good time to be an American in the Middle East."
    Marya fingered the cheap cloth, tracing the red maple leaf. "Um, okay."
    His eyes darted over her, assessing. "It'd be smart to cover your hair when you're out and about, but I know how you American ladies feel about that."
    She shrank away from his scrutiny, suddenly bashful. "I'll do it for safety. Whatever." The waiter brought their tea, and Luke poured her a cup. Some of her boldness returned, and she said, "So you still haven't told me why you snuck out."
    He leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. "What if I told you I just wanted to escape, walk around alone for a bit?"
    Marya shrugged. "I'd say that sounds like a great idea. And then I'd ask if you wanted some company." She smiled at him hopefully.
    The amusement in his eyes all but disappeared and he pursed his lips. "No."
    She tightened her arms around her middle, feeling like he'd punched her in the gut. Looking down, she said, "Oh. Okay."
    "It's not you, Marya. I just need to be alone."
    "No, that's fine. I understand." She knew she sounded hurt; it was practically dripping from her voice. She stood, her chair scra ping against the ground. "I should get back. We'll be up in a few hours, after all." She added, "Thanks for the tea."
    She pulled some Jordanian dinars from her purse and hailed a cab. Before climbing in, she glanced back at the cafe, where she and Luke had been sitting.
    He was gone.
    ***
    Luke took a long