Chapter 62

• The café was hidden down a narrow lane off West 31st. It had no signboard, only a small brass plate on the door and the scent of warm cardamom bread spilling out through the seams of its old wood frame. I arrived fifteen minutes early. I could not help it. My nerves had been sharpened all morning, wound tight from the moment the encrypted message confirmed the meeting time. Eleanor Chen had given no explanation, only a date, a location, and one line: You’ll want to hear this in person.
• I stepped inside and let the door shut behind me. The noise of the city faded like it had been swallowed whole. The place was quiet, lit with soft amber lights and lined with worn shelves full of mismatched porcelain cups. A man behind the counter offered a polite smile, but I only nodded and moved to a corner table near the window.
• I didn’t order anything. I couldn’t have kept anything down. I watched the steam rise from someone else’s teacup and pressed my palm against the cool marble table.