“Mr. Graves,” the guard said, holding up the black receiver.

“I have Dunleavy on the line.”

The steel doors slid shut, cutting off the guard’s voice.

The elevator rose quickly, making my stomach drop.

I held Ruby’s hand tighter, feeling the small, damp warmth of her palm.

“Who is Dunleavy, Mommy?” she asked, her voice small in the carpeted space.

“Just a man from the building, sweetie,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Nathaniel stood with his back to us, staring at the digital floor indicator as the numbers climbed.

Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two.

The air in the elevator smelled like expensive leather and ozone.

“He shouldn’t be calling here,” Nathaniel said softly, not turning around.

“He manages Brindlewood,” I said, my voice rising defensively. “He has his hands in everything.”

“I am beginning to realize that,” Nathaniel replied.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open.

We stepped out into a vast hallway lined with floor-to-ceiling glass.

Below us, the city lights stretched out like a field of fallen stars, cold and distant.

Nathaniel led us toward a pair of heavy mahogany doors at the end of the hall.