I walked to the elevator and pressed the button.

My fingers were cold.

I watched the digital numbers above the door count down.

A sudden vibration came from my coat pocket.

It was not my phone.

I reached into the inner pocket and pulled out a small black device.

It was Matthew’s personal burner phone, the one he had slipped into my bag at the hospital.

The screen was lighting up with a new text message.

The sender’s name was not listed, but the area code was from Barcelona.

I opened the message.

*Alvaro knows about the apartment in Sarrià. He is sending someone tonight.*

My heart skipped a beat.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

Inside, the mirror showed my pale face and my dark coat.

I stood on the threshold, one foot in the garage, one foot in the elevator.

The phone in my hand buzzed again.

I stepped into the elevator and let the heavy doors slide shut.

My reflection in the mirrored wall looked pale, my eyes shadowed by the dim fluorescent light.

I pressed the button for the third floor.