The rain had returned to the city, a relentless grey drizzle that blurred the neon lights of the skyscrapers into smeared watercolor paintings.
I stood before the iron gates of Harrison’s townhouse, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. It was a stunning piece of architecture—brownstone and ivy, blending seamlessly into the wealthy, quiet pocket of the urban sprawl. It looked like a sanctuary for a man of his stature, a place of order and intellect.
I checked my watch. 5:59 PM.
I pressed the buzzer. A few seconds later, the lock clicked with a heavy, metallic thud. I pushed the door open and stepped into a foyer that smelled of expensive leather, old books, and that same intoxicating scent of sandalwood and espresso that had haunted my dreams for months.
Harrison was wai
