The concrete walls felt cold against my palms.

I reached the heavy metal fire door at the end of the hall.

When I pushed it open, the humid summer air of Washington hit my face.

The sun was bright, blinding me for a second.

I pulled my sunglasses from my purse and put them on.

Across the street, a black sedan was idling.

The passenger door opened.

A man in a dark suit stepped out, holding a tablet.

He looked directly at me.

His phone was pressed to his ear.

He spoke into the receiver, his eyes locked on mine.

My phone vibrated in my hand.

It was an unknown number.

I answered it.

“Eleanor,” a voice said.

It was not Cole.

It was a voice I had not heard since the night in Amman.

“The Senate has the files,” the voice said.

“But they don’t have the key to the second vault.”

“The one Cole hid in Maryland.”

“They are coming for you now.”

I looked at the man by the sedan.

He took two steps toward the curb.

“Who is this?” I asked.