The Afternoon Sun on Île Saint-Louis gilded the Seine into shards of gold
Liam stood on the second floor of the café across from the music school, peering through the slats of the shutters to watch the courtyard. Ten minutes to three, and Leia still hadn’t shown—but the courtyard had already transformed. The corner where children usually played had been cleared out, replaced by a baby grand piano with its lid propped open. Its black and white keys glowed like ivory in the sunlight.
This was far too conspicuous, utterly out of character for the Pure Eye—they always favored secrecy and subtlety. Such an open display could only be a trap, or some kind of test.
His phone vibrated. A message from Leia: “Plan changed. Come to the Pont des Arts, on the opposite bank. Under the third arch. Alon
