His voice was louder now, carrying over the sound of the rain.

He was speaking up on purpose.

The latch gave way with a soft, muffled click that was swallowed by a sudden roll of thunder outside.

I pushed the door open just wide enough to slip my body through.

The cold night air hit my face, wet with rain.

I stepped out onto the slick stone tiles of the terrace and pulled the door closed behind me until it caught.

The wind caught my hair, plastering wet strands against my cheeks.

I stood in the darkness, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I had the decryption key in my bag.

The digital footprints of Marcus Reed’s shell companies were now mine to unlock.

But I was on the third-floor terrace of the Crane estate, and the only way out was back through the public rooms.

I walked quickly along the stone balustrade, keeping my head down.

Water pooled in the fabric of my silk dress, making it heavy and cold against my legs.

The bright lights of the grand ballroom glowed through the tall arched windows twenty yards ahead.