It was Arthur’s security chief, his face tense as he stepped inside.

“Sir, the backup generators are coming online now,” the security chief said.

Arthur did not look at him, keeping his cold gaze fixed on my face.

“Check the perimeter,” Arthur ordered.

The security chief bowed his head and stepped back into the corridor.

Arthur turned toward the window, watching the glittering grid of Manhattan below.

“Tristan thinks he is clever,” Arthur said, his voice quiet and dangerous. “He thinks he can use my resources to build his own kingdom.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“Go to the gala,” Arthur said. “Play your part as the public relations coordinator. But do not lose sight of him.”

He walked over to his desk and picked up a small silver pen, sliding it into his pocket.

“And do not trust anyone,” he added. “Not even the people paying your bills.”

The rain did not stop.

By seven o’clock the next evening, the streets of Manhattan were slick with black water.