The lobby is modest but clean, with mailboxes near the entrance and a flight of stairs with a polished wooden railing. We walk toward the staircase at an easy pace, avoiding any movements that might signal we’re out of place here. And we make our way steadily up two flights, where the apartment numbers begin with twos.

Three doors down is apartment number twenty and my heart pounds furiously as we close the short distance. I take a hopeful breath, raise my hand, and knock. Four seconds pass. I knock again. Still nothing.

Please let my dad be here. Please.

I look at Ash and he pulls out his lock-picking tools, slipping them into the keyhole. There is the familiar click, and he cracks the door an inch. He peers through the opening, but instead of taking his time assessing the inside like I would have imagined, he opens the door wide.

For a split second I try to convince myself that it’s because he sees my dad, but in my gut I know that’s wrong. And the instant I lay eyes on the room, I panic. The living room is a mess—furniture overturned, glass on the floor, and blood.

I rush into the room. “Dad!” I call out, but there’s no answer.

Beside me, Ash has his knife drawn and Ines is clutching a blow dart. But I can’t think about weapons right now. All I can think is that there is blood on the floor that belongs to someone, and I hope more than anything that someone isn’t my dad.

I race into the bedroom, which is disconcertingly tidy, with a quilt folded at the bottom of the bed and my dad’s plaid duffel bag, which matches my own, sitting on the floor next to an armoire. My heart sinks. “No,” I say, backing out of the room.

Ash touches my arm. “November—”

But I pull away. “I’m not…This is not…No,” I say, trying to unknow this horror.

I walk back toward the living room, but Ash blocks my path. “Why are you…move, Ash,” I say.

“I need you to listen to me,” he says, his voice demanding my attention. “Whatever happened here happened not long ago.”

I stare at him, trying to take meaning from what he’s saying, but all I can think about is the blood splatter in the living room.

“Which means that we may not have very much time here,” he continues, and his look is hard and serious, not soft and comforting like a non-Strategia’s would be. “The Lions will be coming back to scrub this place clean and go through your father’s things. This is our only chance to search the apartment ourselves and we need your help. You’re the only one who would know if your dad left you something.”

The instant Ash suggests it, some of the emotional fog clears.

“Right,” I say, my voice tight. “I understand.”

Ash steps out of my way after giving me an assessing look and we move back into the living room.