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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Bane

APRIL 18TH

The courier appears on my security feed before he reaches the apartment, and the timestamp in the corner tells me it’s 8:17 a.m. I notice because I’ve spent years training myself to catch details other people dismiss until they’re explaining how everything went wrong.

He steps out of the lift with a narrow cardboard envelope tucked beneath one arm, checks the number beside my door, then flicks his gaze toward the camera above the frame without breaking stride.

Every movement fits the picture of a man delivering another package, and that unsettles me far more than nerves ever could.

The doorbell rings.

Sprout launches down the hallway in a frenzy of barking before the chime has finished echoing, his nails skittering across the hardwood as though he’s personally responsible for defending Manhattan.

Babs races after him with one sock, wild pigtails, and the certainty only a six-year-old can possess. “Package!”

“You’ve reached that conclusion awfully fast.”

She shoots me a look that suggests I’ve embarrassed myself. “It’s the doorbell.”

“It could be Mrs. Kaplan from downstairs.”

Babs plants her hands on her hips. “Mrs. Kaplan knocks.”

I keep watching the courier as he shifts the envelope to his other arm.

Years of reading people have taught me to trust the details before the story, yet every instinct comes back empty. He walks like a man finishing another stop on an ordinary route, and the absence of warning settles badly in my gut.

I unlock the door before he rings again.

He greets me with a polite smile and offers the electronic pad. “Delivery for Babs and Biddy Wolf.”

My fingers tighten around the stylus as I sign. “Who sent it?”

He glances at the label. “Private delivery. No sender listed.”

“Where’d it come from?”

“Dispatch hub in Queens. That’s all they gave me.”

I hold his gaze long enough for his smile to lose a little confidence before I hand back the pad and take the envelope. “Enjoy the rest of your day, sir.”

The elevator doors close behind him, and I remain in the hallway with the envelope balanced in my hand. Private delivery, with no sender, for the second time in less than two weeks.

“Daddy?” Biddy peers around my leg. “Is it ours?”

Babs is already up on her toes. “It says Babs!”

“Let me just take a look at it first.”

I carry the envelope to the kitchen island, and the twins scramble onto their stools before I can suggest a little patience. Babs leans halfway across the countertop as Biddy climbs up beside her, still carrying the sock as if it deserves a place in the investigation.

“What do you think’s inside?” Babs asks.

“A dinosaur,” Biddy says.

“It’s flat.”