CHAPTER 44 —

The morning smelled of rain and old paper; the city, for once, answered on time. Word moved like a thing with teeth — Ferrier’s devices were still in custody, Marcus Wythe’s partner logs had been subpoenaed, Henry Blake sat under the slow sun in an interview room with a face like a ledger trying to confess. Nicole watched him from across the table, the baby a small, steady drum against her ribs: one-two-three, the metronome she’d come to trust more than counsel or ...