Page 381 of Reign

“My peer,” I repeat. “Evelyn St. Clair.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

I take another breath and reach for the door.

“Okay. I can do this.”

“You can.”

I get out before I change my mind.

Luciano lowers the window as I close the door.

“Elena.”

I look back.

“I’ll be here.”

Some of the pressure eases. I climb the front steps and stop beside the intercom.

There are at least twenty buzzers.

Only one has a label.

EVELYN ST. CLAIR — 318

I press it.

A sharp buzz sounds through the speaker, followed by the lock releasing inside the door.

No greeting.

No question about who I am.

Apparently Evelyn St. Clair has been expecting a deeply nervous woman carrying a portfolio and reconsidering every decision that brought her here.

I pull the door open and step into a narrow foyer.

There is no elevator.

I stare at the staircase.

Then at my Evelyn St. Clair heels.

“Wonderful.”

Three flights.

By the time I reach the third floor, my breathing is no longer appropriate for a professional meeting. I stop outside apartment 318 and wait until my lungs remember how to behave.

Then I knock.

“Come in,” a woman calls.

I try the knob.