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“Really?” I’d had my hands full with everything, and Claymore being missing had slipped down my investigate-later list. “Have you found out any more?”

“Not yet, but I’ve diverted some of the team’s resources to look into it in more depth.”

“You can do that?”

“What is technology for, if not to spy on people?”

Was that what technology was for? I wasn’t the best judge, since I didn’t understand it and rarely used it. “I do feel bad about Claymore. So much has happened. He was always so quiet, barely said three words each day. But that’s no excuse to forget him.”

“Adam, you do know you aren’t personally responsible for every staff member and guest in your hotel? You can’t keep everyone safe when they each have their own lives and responsibilities.”

Maybe not. “But I can try.”

“Why?”

I wasn’t even sure. It felt right like nothing in my life had felt right before. Destiny and I did not get along, but the SOS Hotel had called my name when I’d been alone and lost. And I’d answered it. “Everyone deserves a safe place, don’t you think?”

Reynard gazed at me. “But why does it have to be you who gives it to them?”

“Because I’ve never had one.”

The car cruised to a soft halt outside a bank of shiny marble steps. I peeked outside, tilting my head to look up, and up. Like Cain Developments, Reynard Technologies had a huge high-rise building made of mirrored glass, jutting into the San Francisco sky.

“You’ve never had a safe place?” Reynard asked quietly. “What about your family? Was your home not safe?”

I swallowed hard and kept my gaze on the shimmering glass. “Not really.” Not once they knew what I was . . . The prophecy had been more important. Don’t be so selfish, do what’s right, be a hero . . . and die.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I beamed—or tried to. “It’s fine now. I have the hotel.” I sprang from the car, eager to get away from the topic of myself, and waited as Reynard’s driver popped up the obligatory umbrella to escort us inside.

A doorman dropped his chin at our approach. “Lord Reynard.”

Reynard nodded back. “How’s your youngest? Feeling better, I hope?”

“Oh, much better sir.” He opened the door for us. “I’ll tell her you asked after her.”

We swept into a glossy lobby with a fountain at its center. Water cascaded down a sculpture of the letters RT merged together. Soft, calming music tinkled. A middle-aged woman appeared from somewhere, with earbuds in, and rattled off a list of names and times that sounded like meetings Reynard was due to attend. We marched on, moving at pace, so I occasionally had to jog to keep up. Then we entered an elevator that made the SOS Hotel elevator look and smell like a trash can.

The chatty woman jabbed the basement button, and down we went, without a single jolt or clanging cable. This elevator definitely wasn’t about to plunge us to our deaths.

The doors opened into a dark, narrow corridor. The lights flicked on as we stepped out of the elevator, and Reynard was moving at speed again.

“Joyce, this is Adam, my special friend,” he said, stopping outside a nice varnished dark-wood door with an expensive looking name plaque that read: Lord Reynard.

I raised a hand in a small wave and smiled. “Hello.”

“Oh, I see,” Joyce said, screwing up her nose, and then stabbing a visitors pin badge through my shirt. Ow. “Never mind.”

Reynard opened the door, and dove inside a small basement room. It had a nice desk, with a slimline computer as its centerpiece, and a sumptuous leather swivel chair behind. One lonely two-seater couch sat opposite. And that was it. No windows. No decoration. I’d seen nicer prison cells.

“Thank you, Joyce. That will be all.”

Joyce looked at me, sighed, and left, closing the door behind her.

“Adam, do take a seat.”

Wait. This bunker was his office?