The interior of the moving van was dark and smelled strongly of fuel and damp dust. Clara sat tied up against the side wall, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Across from her sat Marcus Vance, his old facial scar twitching under the dim yellow light as a nasty grin spread across his lips.

He looked at her like a cat playing with a helpless mouse.

"Did you really think you could outsmart me, little girl?" Marcus asked, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. "You ran around Manhattan playing detective, thinking your mother's old letters would save you. But you walked right into every single trap...