Luka’s hand tightens around mine as though sensing the sick lurch in my gut. He’s been quiet, no doubt upset at what I said last night. Maybe even reconsidering his promise to protect me no matter what. And while I selfishly hope that’s not the case—would be lost, actually, if he left me now—a part of me can’t possibly blame him.

I also feel guilty for wanting him to stay when I know Ana is somewhere on this earth alone.

“This is the Glagolitic symbol for life,” Jester says with some surprise. “And . . . it is also the logo for Der Tresorraum in Vienna—a private vault unaffiliated with any bank.” She taps the screen and looks back at me. “How did you know it was Vienna?”

“Luka figured it out,” I say, glancing at him. But he is tense, and silent.

*  *  *

Auerspergstrasse, Vienna, is lined with Baroque buildings, their columns set into outer walls, elaborate banisters trimming the roofs. Rich, yes. But not at all how I pictured the setting for a high-tech vault. I check my wig in the rearview mirror, make sure that a section falls over my face. It’s weird to have long hair, to be nearly my natural color again.

“This vault offers anonymous safety deposit boxes,” Jester says. “You cannot get this even in Zurich anymore. However long you took the box out for—one year, ten, thirty—it wasn’t cheap. But here is why you did it: There’s no identification required. Just your pass code and biometrics.”

“I don’t like this,” Luka says. “Nikola had no choice but to let you find it. He can’t fake your biometrics.”

“Which means I’ll be fine,” I say. At least until I get in.

Piotrek looks into the mirror at me. “We will let you and Luka out on that side street and circle back in fifteen minutes, and then every five after that.”

“I’m going alone,” I say.

“You can’t,” Claudia says. “Luka, don’t let her!”

But he does not insist. An effort, I know, to try to prove his motives. But his jaw is twitching.

“We’ve already passed more traffic cameras than I can count,” I say. “And for all we know, Nikola’s got someone watching the building. A second person is just another opportunity to identify one of us. I’ll find a different way out, meet you there on the back of the block,” I say, pointing to Lange Gasse street on Jester’s screen.

“There’s a hotel on the corner,” Jester says. “We can meet there. You’re on your own till you get out; I don’t dare try to access their system while you’re in there except for emergency. Remember what I said about the cameras. Alter your stride if you can.”

“Call at the first sign of trouble,” Luka says, something frantic in his gaze.