“Right,” I said. Now that the Raptor was gone, the reality of the situation was returning to me—I’d barged in on Mateo’s Friday night for no reason and was still no closer to getting into the apartment. “Actually, would you mind if I made a call from your phone? Maybe Mallory’s super is back.”

“Sure,” he said, handing it over.

I pressed in Cary’s area code, then I CRUISE, but he didn’t answer—after four rings, the call went to voice mail. “Hey, Cary,” I said. “It’s, um, Stevie, Mallory’s stepsister? We met earlier. Just checking to see if you had an ETA on your uncle. Thanks!” I hung up, then realized that when Cary heard my voice mail, he might call me back at my old number—which would not be helpful at all. I pressed his number again—it went to voice mail after only two rings this time, and as soon as it did, I said quickly, “Hi, Cary, it’s Stevie again. Sorry. But can you call this number when you hear anything? Not the other one. Okay. Thanks. Bye.” I hung up and handed the phone back to Mateo, who looked thoughtful.

“Be right back,” he said, taking his phone and heading into one of the bedrooms. I watched him go, not sure what I was supposed to do now.

“If you’re free later,” Archie said, “you should come out with us! We’ve got big plans, with Ukrainian food on the Lower East Side, and then an infused vodka bar in Soho that’s Russian themed. It’s a real Iron Curtain kind of evening.”

“Yeah, you should come!” Alyssa said, settling into the couch with her phone and glancing up at me over the screen. “And you should bring the dog!”

They both started to sell me on the night, even reading out pieces of Yelp reviews for the Ukrainian place—which really wasn’t necessary, just hearing the word “pierogi” was enough to remind me that I was getting hungry—when Mateo came back in.

“Okay,” he said, holding up his phone. “I just talked to Margaux. She has Mallory’s keys.”

“Really?” I asked, hope flaring in my chest. Margaux, the middle of my stepsiblings, was the one I knew the least—she traveled a lot, always seemingly on a trip or just having returned from one. “She’s sure?”

“I asked her to double-check—you know what she’s like—and she swore they were labeled and everything.”

“Oh my god,” I said, starting to smile. For the first time all night, it felt like there was a light at the end of this tunnel—that I could actually get the keys, get back into the apartment, drop off Brad, get my stuff, and go home. “That’s amazing.”