“Bringing breakfast,” he said, and gestured to the tower of pastry. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“Did you think they starve me? Or are you expecting a famine?” She swatted at him with a small, elegant hand and pushed him toward a pair of chairs near the windows. Her view was of the city of Alexandria, and it was spectacular. Seabirds glided at eye level, while the streets and buildings climbed up the hill around the harbor. The giant structure of the Alexandrian Serapeum dominated the sky, along with the black, rounded gloom of the Iron Tower. She ignored the sights. Her smile was full of delight, and she leaned forward toward him with her hands clasped together in her lap. “Whatever are you doing? Really?”

“I wanted to see you,” he said. It was true and it was untrue at the same time. Khalila was a friend. A brilliant mind. A rising star of the Library. When they’d all been together in Wolfe’s class, she’d been as much a part of the team as any of them, and more than some, but now . . . now she was fast-tracked to the highest levels of scholarship. One day, she’d rise to greatness. Power. Maybe even fill the chair of the Archivist.

If he didn’t get her killed. I shouldn’t do this, he thought. I’ll ruin everything for her. Everything.

But he knew Khalila well enough to know that she’d find out, and when she did, she wouldn’t thank him for that protection.

Jess slowly reached over and took one of her hands in his, and said, in a very low voice, “Is it safe to talk here?”

“Yes,” she said at the same quiet level. “They don’t monitor my conversations. Still, we should be careful. And fond of you as I am, you should not stay here long.”

“I know,” Jess said. “I’ll be brief.” There was, he realized, no easy way to tell her; the shock wouldn’t be kind. Better to do it in one go. “I have proof that Thomas wasn’t executed, as the Archivist told us he was. There’s every reason to believe Thomas is still alive, in prison.”

Khalila’s smile faltered, then died, and her dark eyes fixed on his for so long and so silently that he wondered if she’d really heard him. Then she stood up; walked to the door with brisk, firm steps; and turned the lock. “That will put on a privacy signal. My assistant could arrive at any moment,” she told him. “I shouldn’t wish for her to hear this.” Her voice sounded completely normal, as if he’d told her that there might be rain in the afternoon, or that the price of saffron could go up in the markets. “I would ask how you are taking this, but I think I can guess.”

“You seem very calm,” Jess said.

Khalila turned to face him. Tears glittered in her eyes, on the verge of falling. “Do I? Who told you he might be alive?”