The wind roared, shaking the glass doors behind us.

Suddenly, the door to the penthouse suite clicked.

A bright light flooded the dark living room behind us.

Footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor inside.

“Evelyn?” a voice called out from the darkness of the apartment.

It was Celeste.

She stepped out onto the terrace, her hair damp, holding a small silver key in her hand.

Celeste stopped, her eyes wide as she looked from Bennett to Marta.

“Bennett, what are you doing?” she asked, her voice trembling.

She held the key tight against her chest, her knuckles white.

“Give me the key, Celeste,” Bennett demanded, his grip loosening on Marta’s arm just a fraction.

Marta saw her chance.

She twisted her arm and threw her weight forward, slipping out of his wet wool coat.

Julian lunged, grabbing Marta’s sleeve and pulling her away from the low stone parapet.

Bennett stumbled backward, his hand catching the cold iron railing.

He looked down at the street, then at Julian, then at me.

“It’s over, Bennett,” Julian said, his voice steady.