But as the car pulled away from the curb, I looked at the rearview mirror.

The man in the wet overcoat was standing on the corner, his hand raised in a silent farewell.

And the red light on his phone was blinking in the dark, a small, steady beep that didn’t stop.

We drove down the avenue, the snow falling silent and white around us.

And the empty castle built on secrets was left behind, a silent monument to a promise forgotten.

But the promise was not dead.

It was only waiting for the spring to find it.

And until then, we would walk in the dark, waiting for the morning to come.

The taxi turned onto the lakefront drive, the dark water of Lake Michigan churning against the stone barriers.

And the city of Chicago slept on, buried in white.

But as we reached the entrance to the highway, the phone in my pocket began to vibrate once more.

The screen glowed bright blue with a single message.

“He’s lying, Evelyn.”

“Look at the book.”