Her breath caught. She recognized the page’s format from the paper she’d found crumpled in the trash. It was a profile. A distinguished man, dark-skinned with a trim white beard, staring out at her from a professional photo.

Ellis Dumont. Fifty-seven. A surgeon who’d been in an accident the year before. He hadn’t abandoned his old life; maybe that was why he hadn’t shown up in the system. Not enough markers. But this—this was the important part. Ever since he’d returned to work, his patients’

recovery rate had skyrocketed. There were links to news articles, pieces praising this man with a near prescient ability to discover what was wrong.

She scrolled down the page until she found Dumont’s current location.

Merit Central Hospital.

Sydney surged to her feet and hurried down the hall. The soft hush of the shower spilled from Mitch’s room. Victor’s door was ajar, the space beyond dark. She could just make out the lines of his body on the bed, his back to her.

The first and only time she’d ever woken him, it had been from a nightmare, and he’d lit her up like a Christmas tree. The pain had echoed in her nerves for hours.

She knew it probably wouldn’t happen again, but it was still hard to force herself forward. In the end, it was a wasted fear.

“I’m not asleep,” said Victor softly.

He sat up and turned to face Sydney, his eyes narrowing.

“What is it?”

Sydney’s heart was racing. “There’s something you should see.”

She sat, perched on the edge of the sofa, as Victor read the profile, his expression carefully blank. She wished she could read his mind.

Hell, she wished she could read his face.

Mitch appeared in the doorway, large towel draped over his bare shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“Get your things,” said Victor, rising to his feet.

“We’re going to Merit.”

XXV

TWO DAYS AGO

FIRST AND WHITE

MARCELLA leaned back in her chair and admired the view.

The city spilled away beyond her floor-to-ceiling windows, rolled out like a carpet beneath her feet.

Once upon a time she’d stood on the rooftop of a college frat and thought she could see all of Merit. But it had only been a few small blocks, the rest swallowed up by higher buildings. This was a real view.

This was her city.

She turned back toward the desk, where the cards sat waiting.

They’d arrived in a lovely silk box—one hundred crisp white invitations, the front of each embossed with an elegant gold M.

She drew one from the box and flicked it open.

The words were printed in curling black, the edges embossed with gold.

XXVI

Marcella Morgan and her associates

request your presence at the exclusive reveal of Merit’s most extraordinary venture.

The future of the city starts now.

The Old Court house.