I whirl to find Valentin ten feet off, standing beside a bench covered in magazines. His nose is red, as though he’s been out in the sun since yesterday. Abundant eyebrows are askew like he ran a hand down his face or fell asleep on the metro.

“Inspector.” Valentin’s track record has not been to bring good news.

“May we go somewhere quiet? Perhaps your . . . Angela’s building? You left the crime scene after I said to wait. I desire to speak with you.”

Now it’s my turn to hesitate, knowing how the apartment looks. How I am trying to find my supposedly dead sister alive. How I have packed next to none of her belongings with two days left. “You know, actually, I’m air-drying all my underwear right now. Not really a good time.”

He frowns, creasing the bridge of skin above his nose. A pair of rowdy high school–aged boys passes by, and he takes a step closer toward me. “Please, Miss Darby. Here will do.”

I sigh, taking a seat on the bench.

Valentin pushes aside a magazine featuring a hand-drawn cartoon before he sits. “Miss Darby, I imagine your trip has not been an easy one.”

The urge to snap at him—You think?—balloons in me, but then the classical music of the brothel echoes in my eardrums. For a second, the idea of telling Valentin everything about my would-be kidnapping, of blurting out each of the supposed clues and messages from Angela, makes so much sense that the scowl wipes clean from my face. My lips quiver, fighting the words.

Valentin sees my struggle and leans in. “Shayna, I am here to help you. And help Angela in any way I might.”

An-jel-ah. Hearing her name in his accent yanks me back to reality. Telling him anything would only add surveillance to my path, or worse, well-meaning house arrest. “Thank you, Inspector. I know you are.”

He straightens. “I come with an update. We found the cadaver in Emmanuelle Wood’s apartment. As you said, it was beneath the kitchen sink and placed there recently; the police are examining it now. We are trying to get in touch with her twin for Emmanuelle’s whereabouts. Did Angela engage with the Woods to your knowledge? Did the three of them interact—perhaps bond together as twins?”

My mouth moves slowly, forming the words: Manu is a twin? Does that mean she was more, or less, enthralled with my sister? My stomach tenses at this revelation, confusion and concern braiding my insides.

Valentin watches me, no doubt cataloging my expression. “You did not know?”

“No,” I mumble. “I told you I hadn’t spoken to Angela in ages when I arrived here. Are the Woods suspects now?”

He blinks, giving away nothing. “If this situation is linked to your sister’s case, I will keep you informed.”