Nobody moves at first.
We all look at Petra's phone. The blue dot moves steadily along a street on the north side, slow enough to be on foot or in slow traffic, labeled with Orlan's name like someone decided to gift wrap him and deliver him to us.
"Who sent this?" Dominic asks.
Petra checks the number. "Same one that sent the warehouse warning last night."
"The cancel tomorrow message," I say.
"Yes."
I look at Rosamund. She is looking at the phone with an expression I haven't seen on her before. Not surprise. Something closer to recognition.
"You know who this is," I say.
She looks at me. "I have a suspicion."
"Share it."
"There's a woman in Hadrian's inner circle," she says carefully. "She's been there for eight years. She handles his private communications and his schedule." Sh
