“Of course,” she said. I started to turn away, but abruptly she moved forward and clamped a hand down on my shoulder. “Isaak… be careful, okay?”

“I will,” I said.

She stared at me for a moment. Then she put her hand on my cheek, guiding my face down toward hers, and kissed me gently.

My heart about stopped.

Before my brain could even process what had happened, she pulled away, her face bright red. “I’m tired of always getting interrupted,” she said.

I grinned, and she smiled back. Then she hurried across the bridge and through the doors into Tyson.

◦ • ◦

The sun was setting as I approached the rundown apartment building in South Tierra Nueva. Unbelievably, David Hassan lived not far from Henry’s own apartment. All this time, the answers had been just a few blocks away.

Hassan had to have the answers. If he didn’t, we were all completely screwed.

Scylla’s artifact was tucked safely in my backpack, wrapped in my sweatshirt for protection. Delia had hidden it in the bottom of one of her workshop drawers—it had taken me a panic-stricken half hour to find it. I just hoped she wouldn’t be too torqued at me for taking it. But it was way too dangerous for them to have it at their house right now.

According to Henry’s directions, David Hassan’s apartment was on the third floor. There was no outside access apart from the fire escape, but there was no doorman, either. I managed to sneak in unnoticed, apart from a haggard-looking woman and her three kids I passed on the staircase. The mom was too preoccupied with her armful of grocery bags to pay me any attention, and the two older kids were chattering loudly in Spanish about something that had happened at school that day, so they didn’t even glance in my direction. Only the youngest child stared up at me with wide, dark eyes, clinging to his mom’s shirttail as they passed through the door to the second floor. I smiled lopsidedly at him and kept on climbing.

Apartment 3-F had a door that appeared to have once been white but had faded to a dingy gray. Dark smudges clustered around the doorknob, and the knocker was smeared with fingerprints. I swallowed hard as I reached to lift it. What was I supposed to say to this guy? How was I going to introduce myself without coming off like a nutcase?

I pounded the knocker three times.

A few seconds later, the door opened, its hinges squealing. I stared, mouth agape, at the man who stood before me, with his haphazard shock of white hair and deeply lined face. He grinned when he saw me, brushing ink-stained hands on his pants.

“Ah, Contreras,” he chuckled. “It’s about time you turned up here.”

It was Emil.

Chapter 14