His black wool coat was wet from the rain outside, smelling of damp wool and gunpowder.

He carried a heavy black pistol, the long cylinder of a silencer already twisted onto the barrel.

“You run fast for a flower girl,” Silas said.

I pressed myself harder against the iron elevator gate, the cold metal biting through my thin cotton shirt.

“Victor wants the ledgers, Maeve,” he said, taking a slow step forward.

“And your father wants the girl he sold to pay his tab.”

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, but I forced my breathing to slow.

“My father doesn’t own me anymore,” I said, keeping my hands hidden behind my back.

“The law says otherwise,” Silas murmured, raising the gun.

“And Victor’s word is the only law that matters in Calder City.”

He raised the barrel, pointing it directly at my chest.

The metal of the brass key dug deep into my palm, drawing a tiny drop of blood as I squeezed it.

I prepared to dive to the left, behind the thick oak wine racks.