Five
Heron’s auto slid to a stop in front of Orrin Khan’s Whitman Park home eleven minutes later. As Grace mounted the stairs, her legs continued to shake.
“Almost there,” Heron said, supporting her weight.
The day was already unbearably warm, sweat forming on the back of her neck.
The front door opened and Orrin Khan appeared, one hand clutching the enormous wooden frame. His white hair was wild around his head, his bushy eyebrows raised in alarm.
“Oh, you’re right,” he said. “You do look different. Come in, come in.”
He waved them forward.
It was markedly cooler as Grace crossed the threshold into the foyer.
“I’ve sent everyone away,” he said. “Even the AI servants, in case Alabaster gets the bright idea to hack into them and see what we’re doing in here. It’ll be just the three
