To get away from him I spent much of the afternoon watching the cable news channels, desperate for an explanation as to why the sun had risen late, but all I found were talking heads with impressive degrees who offered nothing but spews of empty speculation.

Ellie had immersed herself in Burbank’s—the original Burbank’s—hoard of antiquarian books. She stayed behind when the three of us went out to eat. Hill led us to a cozy bistro he frequented. I grabbed the check and insisted on paying since he was hosting us in his apartment. As the two of us argued about who would pay, Winslow ordered a coffee and Kahlua.

Back at the penthouse we anxiously watched the sun slide down the western sky. Sunset was scheduled for 8:06 but the orange globe was gone by 7:55. A fearful nausea rippled through me and I was afraid I’d lose the shrimp and capellini I’d had for dinner. We’d lost sixteen minutes of daylight today. I had a crawling certainty that tomorrow would be worse. Where would it end?

That was when Ellie had begun herding us down to Central Park to “see the show.” Typically, she refused to say just what that show might be.

So now the four of us waited in silence, lost in our own thoughts. Well, make that three of us.

“The sun rose five minutes late this morning and set eleven minutes early tonight,” Winslow said, restating the obvious. “That’s the kind of stuff I wrote about in Dark Apocalypse, the novel Septimus didn’t want me to publish.”

“You mentioned that before,” I said. “And you say they sent someone to kill you?”

He had to be mistaken. Ellie and I had been to the Septimus Lodge earlier. Although I’d stayed outside, and had no idea what had transpired within, I doubted they or anyone else would have reason to kill this inconsequential man.

“Yep,” he said, hooking his thumbs in his belt and puffing up his chest. “I’m guessing I got just a leeetle too close to the truth about them.”

Hill said, “I think I’m going to head back to the penthouse. I’ve got a good view from there.”

“No, wait,” Ellie said. “It won’t be the same as being—”

“Hey!” Winslow said, pointing toward the Sheep Meadow. “Isn’t that Hari?”

I squinted through the dimness and made out her form moving about in the center of the field.

“She shouldn’t be out there,” Ellie said. “Someone get her and bring her back here—now, before it’s too late.”

Too late for what? I wondered as Winslow took off running.

Yes, he did indeed have a crush on Hari.

HARI

Hari stopped dead center on the Sheep Meadow.

What the hell am I doing? she thought. I’ve gone certifiably nuts.

Earlier she’d come out to locate the spot in daylight, then she’d left a marker—a miniature American flag—stuck in the grass. Once night had fallen, she’d had trouble finding the little flag, but she’d managed. And now she claimed her spot.