I checked the progress of the fire, turned back to Whip. He’d made it to the top, but he was struggling to unlatch the window. The fire grew, getting meaner, closer, louder. Whip put his shoulder to the glass and pushed, but it still wouldn’t give. When he turned my gun over in his hand and smacked the butt of it against the glass, it didn’t break. The glass in the office door shattered. I turned to see tendrils of red flame forcing their way in, thick black smoke rushing in behind them. We had seconds, if that. I looked up again, willing Whip to move faster. He struck the glass again and again and again . . . until it finally shattered. I sidestepped the falling shards as best I could, then hustled up, the fire now practically nipping at my heels. I could barely see. I climbed by feel alone, then missed a rung, and tumbled back down, just catching hold of the ladder before I hit the smoldering floor. I started up again, faster, more desperately. When I reached the top, Whip grabbed me by the arms and pulled me through the jagged hole.

“Move!”

I felt my back pockets, my side, and my heart sank. The rope and note weren’t there. “Wait. Stop. They’re gone.”

They must have fallen out when I slipped off the ladder. I scrambled back to the skylight and peered back through the opening. The floor was covered in smoke now, the flames just moments from flashing over. Even still, I grabbed the ladder, preparing to go back in. I could make it down and back, I thought. I had to.

Whip pulled me back by the scruff of my shirt. “Are you out of your mind?”

I tried twisting out of his hold. “I can get it. I only need a few seconds. Let me go.”

He spun me around, grabbed me by the shirt, and shook me hard, his eyes intense on mine. “You’re not going anywhere but over the side, got it? It’s gone. You’ll get him some other way. Now I said move!”

I pushed him off, screaming out in frustration, but knew he was right. I felt the crushing weight of defeat overpower me. It was dark, bottomless. I’d just lost my best chance at getting Spada. I’d let solid evidence literally slip through my fingers. I was angry at myself, angry at Whip, angry at the world. Spada had won. He’d beaten me. He was going to get away with all of it. Whip headed for the edge of the roof, but wouldn’t go another step without me. “C’mon.”

“No, we need the ladder.” I was thinking clearly now. “Grab it.”