Lena's POV
He lived in a building in Tribeca that was exactly what I expected — clean lines, understated lobby, the kind of address that didn't need to announce itself. I took the elevator to the fourteenth floor with a bag of groceries I had bought that morning without overthinking it.
He opened the door before I knocked.
"You were watching the elevator," I said.
"The floor indicator is visible from the kitchen." He stepped back to let me in. "You brought food."
"You said you had a kitchen. I wanted to see if that was true."
It was true. Large, well-equipped, and almost entirely unused judging by the state of it — everything in its place, nothing worn in. I set the bag on the counter and looked around without commenting.
The apartment was the same. Ordered, expensive, impersonal in
