And to Nick’s left, he could see past the edge of Beacon Hill toward the lights of the financial district; straight ahead, past the park were the low buildings of the Back Bay and the South End beyond, still asleep in the shadow of the angled, spear-like Hancock and the glimmering Prudential, its blinking lights rising up until they were swallowed by the clouds.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “But I know you don’t like heights.”

And then he realized—Hailey wasn’t looking out over the city. She was facing the opposite direction. Because since they’d climbed up the slanted roof, they were now positioned right below the base of the golden dome. Its curved haunches began just a few feet beyond where they were standing, rising up like an onion on its head. So close, in fact, that Nick could have reached out and touched the shiny, plated surface, but something made him resist. It looked so smooth, so pristine, and he felt—unworthy. And yet, not small; something about the quest they were on, the path they were following, made him feel like he was finally doing something important. This wasn’t just another gig, he wasn’t just chasing another score, and Hailey wasn’t just another partner.

He watched as Hailey rose from her crouch, enough to see more of the dome. She pointed up toward the structure at the top—a strange sculpture made of wood but covered in gold.

“People think it’s a pineapple,” Hailey said. “But it’s actually a pinecone. The pine tree was one of the area’s most important resources at the time, and the golden cone was supposed to symbolize the importance of lumber to the fledgling commonwealth. Rich people all over the state used to have statues of pinecones atop their estates.”

Nick smiled.

“The professor?”

“Actually, I remembered that one on my own.”

Her voice drifted off, as she peered closer at the dome itself. Nick noticed that there were places where the gold plating was scuffed by weather, muddled in spots so profusely that the gold seemed burnished, a different shade.

“I think that’s the original copper,” Hailey said. “Paul Revere’s copper, where the gold plating has worn away.”

In the past, Nick might have considered trying to chip some of that antique copper loose—let alone, a few tiles of that twenty-four-carat gold—as a little insurance against what still seemed like the impossible treasure they were chasing. But he knew that Hailey would never have let him, and that alone kept him moving forward. And he had to admit; now he was as determined as she to see this through to the end.

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” he said. “On the Constitution. When the FBI agent asked you to stop running—you were going to leave me there—and I understood. But I’m glad that you didn’t.”