The Guardian Building lobby glows green and gold around me, every wall and pillar covered in Pewabic tile that snatches the thin November light and breaks it into glittering shards. I stand on the marble floor with my coat wrapped tight and my heart beating in my throat like a trapped bird.
Elara Vance occupies a bench near the fountain. She looks gentler than I imagined. Older. Her blonde hair is drawn back in a plain knot. Her suit is elegant but quiet. She looks like a woman who has been sitting in this lobby for years, waiting for someone to show up.
"You came," she says. Her voice is low and frayed.
"You said it involved me."
"It does." She motions to the bench. "Sit. Please."
I don't sit. I plant my feet and fold my arms. "Tell me whatever you came to tell me. I'm not here for c
