We’re nearly to the exit, making our way across the shimmering main entry hall, when a voice snaps me out of my own head. “Maxine, cherie!” an older woman in an elegant purple hat covered in silk rosettes calls. She rushes over to us and greets Maxine with a kiss on both cheeks.

“My schoolmates, Lena and Frances. We’re all studying art history at Barnard.” She feeds her the same fake story we devised on the boat. “This is my mother’s old friend Mrs. Grenoble.”

The woman smiles at the introduction. “Oh, it is lovely to see you, Maxine, and how delightful you are a student of art history. Your late father would be delighted.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Mrs. Grenoble gasps as a sudden realization hits her. “Will you girls be joining us at the fundraising gala? As art history students, you simply must attend! They’re building a new rococo wing and charity is so important for a young girl. I sent your mother the invitation, but you should all come.”

“It’s a generous offer, Mrs. Grenoble,” Maxine responds politely. I catch her eye and widen my eyes. She understands immediately. “We’d love to attend.”

Maxine is thinking what I’m thinking: a crowded gala is the perfect place for a robbery.

We bid our goodbyes and step out into a glorious blue day.

“We’ll need a plan for the night of the fundraiser,” Lena says low so Nina won’t hear.

I nod. “The guards will be distracted then, I hope.”

“We’ll need more than just the three of us.”

The pit in my stomach tells me she’s right.

It’s windy in Paris this morning. The city sprawls out in front of us. Leaves race down cobblestones, followed by flurries of dust and pollen. I sent Oliver a message via courier last night asking him to meet us, and he arrived right after breakfast.

Lena, Maxine, Oliver, Finn, and I have ended up at the café across the street from Maxine’s flat, at the largest table they have. It’s in the back, near the swinging door to the kitchens. Every time the waiter has to come out with a new tray of something it knocks into Finn’s elbow.

At one point nearly an entire glass of ice water is spilled on his shoe. “Can we move, perhaps?” he asks.

“No,” Maxine cuts him off. “As I was saying, we’ll need to get the blueprints.”

Lena has seated herself as far from Finn as the table allows, leaving Maxine and me next to him. He’s hunched over the notepad he’s pulled from his breast pocket.

“I can do that,” Oliver says.

Finn scribbles something down. “We can’t rely on Frances’s magic to get in and out, it’s too unpredictable.”