By the way, you should turn the camera back on later today. I was planning a thing.
That’s a lovely thought, but hold it. Something came up.
Is that code for “I have to go do crimes”?
Not today. Just a pest at my door that needs exterminating.
The elevator dings in the hall. Mat lets himself in without knocking and pauses in the doorway to survey me with a critical eye. He’s wearing a black peacoat over a black turtleneck, his dark hair damp from the rain, and he’s carrying two paper cups of coffee from the Turkish place on Second Avenue.
He sets one cup on the counter, peels off his coat, and drops onto the armchair across from me with a breathy, melancholic sigh that suggests he wants me to ask how he’s doing. I don’t.
“Your little stunt at Sleep No More was unnecessary,” I inform
