s,

ason they're lashing out at us like this. They're trying to hit us where it hurts and steal a little for the

the hour, the meeting has gone over schedule, and Vito is tapping his watch disc

over everyone's assignments one last time. When you'r

ve the room, Vito

that?"

look at h

confetti. Conducting business always calms me down. But seeing this dis

ufflinks and combing my hair in the mirror. It is ridiculous that I should have to attend something as dull as a museum opening when I have

transition is abrupt enough to give me whiplash. The only way I have been able to manage both sides of my life is to keep them as separat

a sea of flashing lights and shouting press. I unfold my long legs from the back seat

ending anothe

, why no a

oes it feel walking in y

feel dozens of pairs of eyes snap to me, and a few people leaning close to whisper in each other's ears. If these gaping soci

l over to the museum director, Helen Tonks. It was she who

th a congenial sm

features. Her red hair is coaxed into a chignon and her freckled cheeks pull back i

p," Helen says. "For a moment there I

orld," I tell her. "You know ho

ice her friend subtly

lease meet my sister, Fiona. Fiona, this is Gab

, and I notice the resemblance for the f

o meet yo

len says you're an avid

o save humanity," I reply. "And art is a universal langua

lover flashes through my mind.

ould mingle for now, but I will

ng in and out of conversations, laughing at boring jokes, dredging up details from memory so I can a

a dress and I am transported. Instead of smoke and ash, I see a girl with long brown hair

iamma sometimes. I only knew her for a few hours, and she

d to remember it in the years sinc

home to distract me from today's losses. There are plenty of options to choose from; I should n

. It is an email from my assistant, Jenny, reminding me that

dious questions, always the same but in different words. But that's the

back in my pocket. I don

up and dive bac