It was an indulgent fantasy. A momentary glimpse of “what if?” But Emily knew it would be pointless, because there was nothing she could do. Not without her grandmother’s money, which was all tied up in a trust until she completed this ridiculous task.

Then there was the letter, or rather diary entry, she had been given, from when her grandmother was barely more than a child. When she had left a whole life behind to pursue a dream, a wish, a folly. It was a part of her past she never talked about, and Emily had never questioned why.

By showing her a piece of her history, Catriona had opened up a sort of longing, a curiosity, in Emily that would not leave her be. A puzzle like no other she had ever been given.

Emily watched stranger after stranger brush past her. Not a single one of them stopped to ask if she was okay, to question why she stood alone, in the center of a bustling station. No one stared at her, or wondered about her scar, because here she was another random person, just like them. One more stranger in a sea of millions; all too busy to pay attention to the finer details of everyday life.

One more clue, Emily told herself. Just one more clue and then she could decide if it was all too much.

At the top of the escalator, she could see Tyler turning full circle, knocking into someone with his guitar, holding up one hand in apology. A frown between his eyes as he sought her out, then relief, then frustration as he beckoned her onward and upward.

One step onto the metal grooves, one hand resting on a faded black plastic handrail, and Emily felt the slightest of lurches in her stomach, as she rose like one of those penguins on a toy she used to have. Penguins who would climb a ladder, only to be sent spinning around a circuit and back down again. Over and over, with nowhere to go.

“You okay?” Tyler was there, right in front of her, pulling her away from the escalator and out into the stifled air of London.

Am I okay? Emily repeated the question as she trotted behind, then down some steps to wait next to a stack of newspapers. Where’s the clerk? she thought as she saw someone pick one up, then walk on without leaving any money behind.

Outside, the noise, the light, was intensified. Bright red double-decker buses, black taxicabs, drills and cars and people, everywhere there were people. The ground was slick with early rain, the sky overhead heavy with cloud.

To her right, a cylindrical tower of brown with slits of glass rose from the pavement, more people spilling from double doors at its center, heading in all directions, never stopping, never straying from their path. Beyond this was a building that resembled a New York warehouse, so out of sync with the pale, gray Regency buildings that lined the streets. Straight ahead the horizon was littered with cranes, like metal giraffes stretching their necks to the sky, only with no trees to feed from.