The heavy iron door of the Kessler estate's penthouse suite swung shut. Following the metallic click of the electromagnetic lock engaging, Avery and Dorothea were officially under house arrest.
Holding Dorothea's hand, Avery walked toward the massive floor-to-ceiling window. The glass dropped straight from the ceiling to the floor, spreading half the city's nightscape beneath their feet. The streetlights looked like strings of discarded orange pearls scattered across a wasteland.
She pressed her palm against the cool glass and tapped it with her knuckles. The sound was dull and heavy, lacking the brittle ring of ordinary glass. She traced the edges-no handles, no latches.
Looking down, her knees felt weak. At this height, with the windows sealed and the door locked, there was no way out
