“I have to do this quietly.”

He turned back to me.

“I have a contact at the vault,” he said.

“An old friend of my father’s who still works the night shift.”

“We go tonight.”

I nodded. “I’m coming with you.”

He didn’t argue.

We left the mansion through the garage, taking his unmarked black sedan.

The roads were slick with ice as we drove toward the city center.

Neither of us spoke.

The wipers made a rhythmic clicking sound against the windshield.

We reached the high-rise archive building on the edge of the loop.

It was a gray concrete monolith with very few windows.

Ethan parked in an alley behind the building.

He led me to a side security door.

He pressed a buzzer twice, paused, and pressed it again.

A small viewing slot slid open.

An elderly man with silver hair looked out.

“Ethan?” the man whispered.

“Arthur,” Ethan said. “I need your help.”

The door clicked and swung open.

Arthur let us inside a warm, brightly lit security office.

He looked nervous, his eyes darting to the monitors on the wall.