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“How?”

“I don’t know. But he wanted every tactical team moving toward the waterfront.”

Hazel grips my arm.

“My apartment.”

Marquez calls the officers guarding the trunk.

No answer.

She calls again.

Nothing.

Keating attempts to reach them through the police dispatcher.

One officer’s radio activates.

All we hear is static.

Then a man speaks.

“Agent Marquez.”

Simon.

Hazel’s apartment appears on the conference-room monitor.

The security feed is live.

Simon stands in her bedroom beside the steamer trunk.

Two police officers lie unconscious in the hallway behind him.

The trunk remains closed.

Simon holds the dolphin-shaped winding key between his fingers.

“Step away from the trunk,” Marquez orders.

Simon smiles.

“I would, but Calle and I have unfinished business.”

My name freezes the blood in my veins.

“How do you know I’m here?” I ask.

“I know where all five of you are.”

Ben’s voice explodes through the radio.

“Simon, if you touch her family⁠—”

“Benjamin.”

Simon says his name as though they are old friends.