But almost overpowering my urgency to leave is a desire to get back to Luka. To see and touch him. To say that I know now and believe him and I’m sorry. To ask him for the story of us and the things we said to one another . . .

To tell him that the woman I was before sends her love.

He has kept his promise. He has been relentless in his love. I glance down at my hand, realizing I never took off the ring. Moreover, I don’t want to. Even after knowing him only a few short weeks—at least as far as my memory is concerned—I can actually picture him picking it out.

The woman leads me down a back hallway, which she accesses with her key card.

With her back to me, I pull the phone from my pocket, unlock it. Texts spill onto the screen:

From Luka’s number: Are you in?

Ten minutes later: Accident on corner—access blocked out front. Do not come down Lerchenfelder Strasse.

From Claudia’s number: Luka’s freaking out.

And, most recently, from Luka: I’m coming in if I don’t hear from you in the next 10 min. That was seven minutes ago.

I send a quick note that I’m on my way as the woman unlocks a back door.

“Here, to the path,” she says, opening the door and gesturing me toward a green common area filled with trees and the occasional bench in the middle of the block.

I glance out. “Thank you,” I say.

“Miss Ellison?” she says as I step past her.

I start to answer and then halt.

She should not know my name.

My head swivels just as she reaches inside her jacket.

Adrenaline fires my veins—but instead of the gun I imagined, she produces only an envelope. “What’s this?” I say, taking it with unsteady fingers.

“In case I miss.”

The pistol lifts in her other hand. I leap to the side with a scream. The shot fires, and I throw my entire weight against the metal door, slamming her back.

I sprint for the trees, ears ringing, phone clutched in one hand, envelope in the other.

The entire interior of the block is enclosed by the buildings that line it. To my distant right, a skywalk leads to the parking garage across the street. Bad choice. I sprint across the grass, connect with one of the narrower paths toward the northwest corner, where I saw a hotel on Jester’s map.

Open the door. Open the back door. Come out for a smoke, a walk—just open the door!