CHAPTER 38 —

Dover Row had learned to carry secrets like bad cologne: you could smell them, but you had to be close. The rain in the morning had the courtesy of being light, a groomed drizzle that left the pavement shiny like a new coin. Nicole stood under the awning of Marsh & Vale with Madeline at her shoulder and Harrow pacing like a man who measures sentences in footsteps. The baby shifted inside her — three polite taps that felt like punctuation.

“You said Dover Row again,” ...