The Valerius Foundation didn't operate out of a skyscraper. They operated out of a converted cathedral on the Upper East Side—a limestone fortress of Gothic arches and stained glass that had been stripped of its religion and filled with the cold, secular worship of compound interest.

Selene stood before the massive oak doors, her hand trembling as she smoothed the skirt of her black wool coat. The air here felt different—thicker, colder, smelling of floor wax and old parchment. She was alone. Silas was back at the townhouse, likely tearing the city apart to find a legal loophole that didn't exist, unaware that she had slipped away while he was arguing with his mother’s ghost.