It was a text message from an unknown number.

I tapped the screen.

There was only a single address in Queens and a time: *4:00 PM.*

Below the address, a short sentence was written.

*If you want the truth about the signature, come alone.*

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the glass.

The rain beat a steady, heavy rhythm against the roof of the SUV.

“What is it?” Nadia asked, leaning closer to look over my shoulder.

I tilted the screen away from her slightly, my chest tightening.

“Nothing,” I lied, slipping the phone into my coat pocket. “Just a spam alert.”

She didn’t look convinced, her dark eyes scanning my face in the dim light of the passing streetlamps.

“Elena,” she said softly. “You can’t keep secrets right now. Not from me.”

“I know,” I said, looking out the window at the blurred grey buildings of Manhattan.

My hand stayed inside my pocket, my fingers curled tightly around the warm metal of the phone.

Four o’clock.

That left us less than two hours.

I pulled the phone back out and opened my call log, selecting Luke’s number.