If they had wiped his existence, they wouldn’t have kept his body in a public grave.

The black keycard had to belong to the facility where they were keeping him.

“No,” I said.

I lunged forward, swinging the heavy leather ledger directly into his face.

The corner of the book caught him across the cheekbone, and he stumbled back with a sharp gasp of pain.

I ducked under his arm, slipping past him into the gray corridor.

“Claire!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the metal doors.

I ran toward the emergency exit at the end of the hall, my boots pounding against the concrete.

I threw my weight against the push-bar of the heavy steel door.

The alarm began to wail, a high-pitched shriek that filled the entire building.

I scrambled down the concrete stairs, nearly losing my footing on the slick metal edges.

Behind me, the heavy door at the top of the stairwell slammed open.

I hit the ground floor, burst through the lobby, and ran out into the freezing rain of the Queens street.