The brownstone in Chelsea was indistinguishable from its neighbors, a facade of red brick and wrought iron that betrayed nothing of the high-stakes secrets kept within its walls. Elena stood on the sidewalk for a moment, the cold biting at her cheeks, checking the address one final time. There was no brass plaque, no shingle indicating medical practice. This was a place for people who valued the absence of a trail.
She pressed the buzzer. The door clicked open almost instantly, and she stepped into a hallway that smelled of expensive beeswax and antiseptics.
Dr. Aris was a man who seemed to have been designed for his profession. He was ageless, with silvering hair and a manner that was as precise as a surgical blade. He didn't offer a handshake; he offered a seat in a room filled with eq
