It was Dr. Miriam Hale.

Her winter coat was torn at the shoulder, and her gray hair was plastered to her forehead by the morning mist.

In her arms, she clutched a thick, yellow manila envelope to her chest like a shield.

“Elena?” she gasped, her chest heaving as she struggled for breath.

“Miriam,” I whispered, pulling her into the narrow hallway and locking the deadbolt behind her.

“They chased me from my apartment,” she said, her voice trembling. “They took my car. I had to run through the subway stations to lose them.”

Dominic’s voice drifted from the front of the shop, loud and sharp, keeping the two men occupied.

“You have no business here,” Dominic was saying to Russo. “Get out before I have my own security remove you.”

Miriam looked toward the sound of his voice, then thrust the envelope into my hands.

“You need to take this,” she whispered. “It is the truth. The real files.”

The paper was cool and slightly damp against my fingers.

I opened the metal clasp and pulled out a stack of documents.