“You weren’t so bad yourself,” I say, happy to restore calm. I can tell he’s in a weird mood, and I want the old Garrett back—I want to share my excitement with him. “It’s pretty amazing you were able to roll with the story when I didn’t get to tell you about the note.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets. “What note?”

“That guy we saw at the boardwalk yesterday passed it to me on my way into the opera house. It was from Faye. She said Nicki wants to be a superhero, to feel like she can help someone—so I flipped the script.”

“I liked the direction. It felt right.” He nods. “We might make a good team…”

I let that idea settle, pleased and terrified by it.

We fall silent, our footsteps echoing on the pavement.

“You’re never this quiet,” I finally say, unable to shake the brooding mood wafting off him. He’s killing my buzz. “What’s bothering you?”

He rubs his temples, and I sense he isn’t listening to me. “I don’t know what Nash is doing here,” he mutters to himself as we arrive at our building and enter through the revolving door.

Realizing who he must be talking about, I come to a halt. The door bumps into me, trapping us in glass. “The guy Nicki was with. You know him?”

“Yeah. I know him. We trained together.”

The words land with a thud in my gut.

He presses his lips together, and I know that’s all he’ll say on the subject. “Keep it moving, Bets. We don’t have all day.” Pushing the door forward, he rotates us until we’re spit out into the lobby.

“He’s a Keystone Disconnect?” I ask, in my shock not realizing I’m practically yelling.

“Keep your voice down. You could seriously wake the dead.” Grabbing my arm, he drags me to the elevator. “He used to be.”

“What is he now?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Listen, it’s not safe to talk in here. All I know is when that guy’s around, bad things happen. We need to make sure we get the ring first.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Seven

March 20X6, San Francisco

“Okay, so let’s review,” Garrett says, spreading a map of San Francisco out on the dining room table in our apartment. “Our plan is to get photographs and a mold of Nicki’s ring at the Stern Grove Festival and transport it to Faye so she can have a replica made. Once she gives us the replica, we’ll figure out a way to get Nicki’s ring off her finger and replace it with the fake one.”

“Easy,” I deadpan. “Seriously, how are we going to get the ring off her finger without her noticing?”