“I do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t date.” I can feel his eyes on me, so I force myself to keep looking toward the intersection ahead. “Should I take your silence to mean you’re jealous?”

“You wish.”

“You could be right,” he says so quietly I can hardly make out the words. “It’s hard to tell.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“That’s a conversation for another time,” he says, grabbing my hand as we approach the building from the file. “Right now we’re going to pretend to fight. That should come easy for you.”

He grins and I stifle the urge to stick out my tongue.

“We’re almost there. I promise the walk will be totally worth it.” Atlas’s voice is raised loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. “Best tacos in Chicago.”

We wait for the light to turn, cross the intersection, and step onto the sidewalk where my mother lost her life. The dream replays in my head. The headlights. Her scream. Blood running on the concrete beneath my feet.

“Meri,” Atlas whispers in my ear. “You okay?”

I shake off the dream and focus on why we’re here. “I don’t see your taco place.”

He looks around. “I know this is the street.”

I roll my eyes. “You always do this. Why is it you never know where we’re going?” I demand.

“Just help me look, okay?” He lowers his voice again. “You take that side. I’ll check this one. If you find any evidence of this being what the plans say, come find me.” He walks up and down the sidewalk, looking at the black-and-silver building. I take the other side, searching for any signs of the terrible things we suspect are happening inside. The front door is locked. The small bronze plaque that reads “Unity Center West” is smudged with dirt and doesn’t appear to have been cleaned in a while. The tinted windows make it impossible to see inside.

I head down the sidewalk to the end of the building and follow the alley to the entrance for the underground garage. It, too, is locked tight. If this is Unity Center West, could there be an East? Or maybe more? If so . . .

“Need help, miss?”

I stop cold and force myself to smile at the woman who steps into the alley. She has a bag of groceries in her hand and an earnest expression on her brightly made-up face.

“I’m trying to help my friend find someone,” I say. She clearly lives nearby. Maybe she knows something that can help, since nothing about the building appears useful. “He used to work in this building. I was hoping someone he worked with might know where he went.”

The woman’s smile fades. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I haven’t seen anyone go into this building in over a month. They must have moved to a new location. Thank goodness. They always had delivery trucks coming and going in the middle of the night. The trucks woke my husband, and he got me up to complain that they weren’t obeying the curfew.” She laughs.