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with any other information you might need; we’ve upgraded your security clearance. Here we are.”
    He opens the door of what looks like a supply closet. The floor is bare concrete, and there are no windows. In the center of the room are two desks facing each other, each with a computer and plenty of space to look over maps. Whiteboards line the walls. A file cabinet stands on one side of the room; a large supply cabinet, like a wardrobe, has been placed on the opposite wall.
    â€œTwo desks, sir?”
    â€œWe promised you security,” he says, ushering me inside. “It’s only logical that your partner would share the space.”
    â€œMy partner?” The drawer glides open smoothly. It’s stocked with the same supplies as my old desk—number-three pencils, pale green stenographer’s notebooks, silver binder clips in every size. Black fountain pens, because I like the sound and speed and precision of the nib more than ballpoints.
    They went through my old desk and prepared this one especially for me. They knew I would accept.
    Suddenly the upgrade to my own office feels less flattering and more . . . intimidating. I wonder if they’ve been checking other aspects of my life, too.
    â€œIt’s for your own protection,” Lattimer says. “I’ll make the introductions tomorrow. For now, you have reading to do—the relevant files have been downloaded to your computer; all the hard-copy reports you’ll need are in the bottom drawer.”
    â€œThank you,” I say, a little stunned.
    â€œTake the rest of the day to catch up on your reading. I’ll alert your First Chair of your new position; they should be able to arrange a suitable replacement quickly enough.”
    The fact they consider me replaceable is less than reassuring. But I’ve never failed an assignment in my life, and I’m not starting now.
    People, maybe. But not assignments.
    â€¢Â Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â Â â€¢
    I read until one of Lattimer’s assistants drops off my coat and bag, which I’d left at my old desk. It’s easy to lose track of time in this small, windowless room. I’ve barely made a dent in the reading, so I pack up and head home, mind whirling. By the time I pull into the driveway of our ramshackle Queen Anne, I have the beginnings of a plan: something that will fulfill my agreement with the Consort and protect Del, Eliot, and me.
    The Consort believes Monty was working with the Free Walkers, and he’s not setting them straight. I don’t know why he’s keeping our secret—he doesn’t do anything unless it serves his purpose—but maybe guilt has finally gotten the better of him. Still, it doesn’t mean we’re safe. The Consort will dig until they find the truth, or something like it.
    A local Free Walker group would fit the bill. According to the files I read today, Free Walker activity increased in this area over the past few years. They must have left a trail, buried in these reports. All I have to do is find it and send the Consort after them instead of us.
    My parents’ minivan isn’t in the driveway, so I fix myself a pot of tea and sit down at the kitchen table to continue reading.
    A short while later, Del pads into the room, still wearing her pajamas. “What are you doing?”
    â€œWork,” I say. “Did you spend all day in bed?”
    â€œI went out.”
    â€œWhere? Walking?” She’s not supposed to Walk by herself, but I wouldn’t put it past her. Del is not one to follow the rules, even now.
    She stares at the ground. “Amelia’s.”
    â€œAre you sure that’s a good idea? Does she—” Does she blame you? I almost ask. “Does she want company right now?”
    â€œI’m not company,” Del says shortly.
    â€œDid Eliot go with you?”
    She shakes her head, and I wonder how many texts she’s ignored, how many calls