The bass line thumped through Kelly's headphones, vibrating against her skull as she stared at the ornate ceiling of her bedroom. Even with the music cranked to maximum volume, she could still hear the muffled sounds of Zebra moving around the kitchen on the floor below. The woman had an uncanny ability to make noise while being perfectly quiet, a talent Kelly had been trying to decode for the past six months.

  Six months, two weeks, and three days. Not that she was counting ever since… the memory of being in the car with her mom. The jolt, he vehicle being thrown aside as it flipped over and over through the air. The look on her mother’s face… the final look ever to be on her mother’s face before…

  She rolled over on her king-sized bed, the silk comforter bunching beneath her as she grabbed her phone. No new messages. No missed calls. Nothing from the handful of kids she'd met at her new school, and certainly nothing from her father. He had left two days ago with little more than a gruff "be good" and a promise to call that he'd already broken.

  Kelly pulled off her headphones and let them fall around her neck, the music now a tiny whisper in the vast silence of the penthouse. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan stretched out below her like a glittering circuit board, all lights and movement and life that felt impossibly far away despite being only thirty floors down.

  She pushed herself off the bed and padded barefoot across the marble floor, her reflection catching in the polished surface. At sixteen, she was still growing into herself, all long limbs and sharp angles that didn't quite fit together yet. Her red hair, so much like her mother's, fell in waves past her shoulders, and she had Dad’s green eyes too, though hers held a restlessness that his never seemed to show.

  The penthouse was quiet in the way that only expensive pces could be, not truly silent, but insuted from the world in a way that made everything feel muffled and distant. Kelly had lived in apartments her whole life, but nothing like this. Nothing with three full floors and rooms she still hadn't fully explored.

  She wandered out of her bedroom and down the hallway, her feet silent on the Persian runners that cost more than most people's cars. The second floor had always intrigued her. Dad called it his study, but it looked more like a private museum. Dispy cases lined the walls, filled with artifacts that seemed ancient and mysterious. Weapons from cultures she couldn't identify. Jewelry that looked ceremonial. Books in nguages she'd never seen before.

  Kelly approached one of the cases, pressing her face close to the gss. Inside sat an ancient-looking bck oil mp with symbols etched along the metal. The metal looked old but well-maintained, and something about it made her skin prickle. She'd asked her dad about the collection once, and he'd given her some vague answer about antiques and investments. But nothing here looked like the kind of thing you'd find at an auction house.

  "Miss Kelly?"

  She jumped, spinning around to find Zebra standing in the doorway.

  "I was just looking," Kelly said quickly.

  "Of course. Are you hungry? Zoar is preparing lunch."

  Kelly's stomach rumbled in response, though she hadn't realized she was hungry until that moment. "What time is it?"

  "Nearly one o'clock."

  She'd been wandering around for hours without realizing it. Time moved strangely in the penthouse, especially when her father was away. Days blended together in a haze of room service and premium cable and the kind of boredom that felt almost physical.

  "Zebra," Kelly said as they walked toward the elevator. "What does my dad actually do?"

  The older woman's steps didn't falter, but Kelly caught the slight pause before she answered. "You know what he does. He's a consultant."

  "What kind of consultant travels with cases full of knives and comes home with bruises?"

  This time, Zebra did stop, turning to look at Kelly with those sharp gray eyes. "Your father's business is his own to share, Miss Kelly. It's not my pce. I am sure he can straighten everything out once he returns."

  It was the same non-answer Kelly had been getting for months. From Zebra, from Zoar, and especially from dad himself. They all acted like she was too young to handle the truth, whatever it was. But she wasn't a child anymore, and she was tired of being treated like one.

  The elevator opened with a soft chime, and they stepped inside. The buttons went from P3 to P1, then L for the lobby thirty floors below. Kelly had only been to the lobby a handful of times since she'd moved in, usually when Hunter was escorting her to or from school. The Pierre wasn't the kind of pce where residents mingled with the regur guests.

  "Tell me about the third floor," Kelly said as they rode up instead of down.

  "The ballroom? What would you like to know?"

  "Does Dad ever use it?"

  "Not since we've been here. He has never really been one much for entertaining."

  Kelly filed that away. Another mystery in a penthouse full of them. The third floor was supposedly an old-time party room; she'd glimpsed it once through partially opened doors, but it was kept locked most of the time. When she'd asked her dad about it, he'd said something about not needing the space and moved the conversation to something else.

  The elevator opened on the first floor of the penthouse, revealing Zoar in the kitchen.

  "Miss Kelly," Zoar said, his accent carrying traces of somewhere tropical that she'd never been able to identify. "I've made your favorite."

  The sandwich he set in front of her was perfect, turkey and avocado on sourdough, cut diagonally the way she liked it. It should have been comforting, but instead it just reminded her how well these strangers knew her preferences while her own father remained a mystery.

  "Zoar," she said, taking a bite. "How long have you and Zebra worked for my dad?"

  "Many years," he said, already turning back to the stove where something was simmering.

  "How many years?"

  "Long enough to know when young dies are asking questions that aren't ours to answer."Kelly huffed in frustration. It was like living with two polite, efficient walls. They took care of her perfectly, better than she'd ever been cared for in her life, honestly, but they wouldn't give her any real information about anything that mattered. When her dad was around, they were friendly enough, but never without a suspicious element of caution.After lunch, she wandered back to the second floor, drawn again to the dispy cases. This time, she noticed things she'd missed before. Scorch marks on some of the weapons. What looked like cw marks scraped across a piece of armor. And in the far corner, a case she'd somehow overlooked entirely.

  Inside was a photograph, old and slightly faded, showing a group of people in what looked like hunting gear. They were standing over something rge and dark, but the image was too unclear to make out the details. Hunter was in the photo, looking younger but still recognizably himself. He was smiling, which was unusual enough, but what caught Kelly's attention was the expression in his eyes. They looked alive in a way she rarely saw anymore, but the man and woman in the photo were strangers to her.

  "Dad?" she whispered to the gss, but the photo offered no answers.

  “Kelly?” She nearly jumped as she heard her own name whispered in the empty room. Turning around and scanning the shadows of the area, trying to see the source of the voice, but finding no one. Quickly, she slipped out of the room, a chill running down her spine.

  The afternoon dragged on with the same crushing weight as the morning. Kelly tried reading, tried watching TV, tried calling the one friend from school who might actually answer, but nothing held her attention for more than a few minutes. By the time the sun started to set, painting the windows in shades of gold and pink, she was ready to climb the walls.

  That evening, she couldn't sit still. Dinner was excellent as always, but she barely tasted it. Television held no appeal, and her usual music felt too quiet for the noise in her head. By ten o'clock, she was pacing her room like a caged animal.

  The elevator beckoned.

  She'd never been to the lobby alone after dark. Hunter had always been with her on their few trips downstairs, and he'd made it clear that the lobby wasn't a pce for her to hang out. Too public, too many strangers. But Kelly was tired of being protected from everything, tired of living in a beautiful cage thirty floors above the real world.

  The elevator descended smoothly, and the doors opened onto a scene of controlled chaos. Even at this hour, the Pierre was busy, guests checking in and out, staff moving efficiently across the marble floors, the kind of wealthy travelers who kept hotels like this profitable at all hours.

  Kelly stepped out tentatively, unsure of what she was looking for. She wasn't pnning to leave the building; she wasn't that reckless, but she wanted to see life happening. Real people doing real things, not the carefully orchestrated quiet of the penthouse.

  She found a spot near one of the massive flower arrangements, close enough to the elevator that she could escape quickly if needed but far enough from the front desk that she wouldn't be noticed immediately. The marble was cool against her bare arms, and she realized she'd come down in just jeans and a t-shirt, no shoes or jacket. Very much not dressed for the Pierre's usual clientele. New York was just colder than back home in California.

  Not home anymore, she caught herself.

  That's when she saw the girl.

  She was about Kelly's age, maybe a year older, standing off to the side near a pilr. Unlike Kelly, she was dressed appropriately, a simple but expensive-looking dress, wedge heels, the kind of effortless elegance that came with money and practice. But there was something about her posture that seemed familiar. She looked as out of pce as Kelly felt, despite looking like she belonged.

  Their eyes met across the lobby, and the girl smiled. Not the polite, distant smile that most adults gave Kelly, but a real smile, curious and slightly mischievous.

  Kelly found herself walking over before she'd made a conscious decision to do so.

  "You look as bored as I feel," the girl said when Kelly got close enough to hear over the lobby noise.

  "That obvious?" Kelly asked.

  "The wandering helped. I've been watching you circle that flower arrangement for five minutes." She had a slight accent that Kelly couldn't pce, European, maybe, but subtle. "I'm Vera."

  "Kelly." She hesitated, then added, "I live upstairs."

  "Lucky you. I'm just visiting with my parents. They're at some business dinner that apparently wasn't appropriate for children." Vera rolled her eyes. "As if I'm still twelve."

  Kelly felt a spark of recognition. Someone else who was tired of being treated like a child, tired of being excluded from the adult world. "How long are you staying?"

  "A few days. Long enough to be completely bored out of my mind." Vera gnced around the lobby, her expression thoughtful. "Though pces like this always have interesting stories. Old buildings tend to collect secrets."

  Something about the way she said it made Kelly's skin prickle, the same feeling she'd gotten looking at the weapons in her father's collection. "What kind of secrets?"

  Vera's smile widened. "The best kind. The ones people go to great lengths to hide."

  They talked for nearly an hour, standing in the shadow of the pilr while the hotel's nighttime rhythm flowed around them. Vera was funny and smart, with the kind of confidence that came from traveling extensively and being comfortable in adult spaces. She'd been all over Europe with her parents, had lived in London and Paris and pces Kelly had only seen in movies.

  But more than that, she seemed genuinely interested in Kelly, not just polite conversation, but real curiosity about her life and thoughts. It had been so long since Kelly had talked to someone her own age who actually listened that she found herself sharing more than she'd intended.

  "So your father travels a lot?" Vera asked when Kelly mentioned Hunter's frequent absences.

  "Constantly. He's gone more than he's here. Supposedly going to be toning it down, but here we are with him gone again."

  "What does he do?"

  The question Kelly had been asking for months, now coming from someone who might actually understand the frustration of not knowing. "That's the million-dolr question. He says he's a consultant, but..."

  "But you don't believe him."

  "Would you? I mean, what kind of consultant lives in a penthouse full of antique weapons and disappears for days at a time?"

  Vera's eyes lit up with interest. "Antique weapons? That's fascinating. My parents are in antiquities, too, actually. Well, sort of. They acquire things for private collectors."

  Kelly felt a flutter of excitement. Finally, someone who might understand her father's mysterious collection. "Really? What kind of things?"

  "Oh, you know. Art, artifacts, the kind of pieces that museums wish they could afford. Sometimes the history is a bit... complicated." Vera's expression grew thoughtful. "Your father's collection; is it extensive?"

  "Pretty big. Weapons mostly, but some other things too. Books in nguages I've never seen, jewelry that looks ceremonial. And photographs..."

  "Photographs of what?"

  Kelly hesitated. She'd already shared more than she probably should have, but Vera felt safe somehow. Like someone who would understand rather than judge.

  "I'm not sure exactly. Pces, mostly. And people. Some of them look really old, like historical documents or something."

  "How old?"

  "I don't know. Decades, maybe? There was one of my dad from when he was younger, with some other people. They looked like they were on some kind of expedition."

  Vera nodded slowly. "Collectors often document their acquisitions. Provenance is everything in the antiquities world."

  That made sense, Kelly supposed. Maybe her father's travels weren't as mysterious as they seemed. Maybe he really was just a consultant, helping wealthy clients acquire rare pieces for their collections. It would expin the weapons, the books, even the secretiveness; that world was probably full of people who valued their privacy.

  But it didn't expin the photographs that looked like crime scenes, or the weapons that showed signs of actual use.

  "I should probably head back up," Kelly said, gncing at the elevator. It had to be past eleven, and while Zebra and Zoar didn't seem to monitor her closely, she didn't want to push her luck.

  "Of course. It was lovely meeting you, Kelly." Vera smiled warmly. "Perhaps we'll run into each other again before I leave."

  "I'd like that. Maybe we should trade numbers?" Kelly dug into her pocket for her phone.

  “Oh, my mom won’t let me have a phone, but I am sure we’ll run into each other again.”

  As Kelly rode the elevator back to the penthouse, she found herself feeling lighter than she had in days. Not just because she'd finally had a real conversation with someone her own age, but because Vera had made her father's world seem less foreign somehow. Antiquities and private collectors, it was still mysterious, but it was a mystery with logical expnations.

  Maybe her father wasn't hunting monsters after all. Maybe he was just hunting rare artifacts for people who could afford to pay well for discretion.

  It was a comforting thought, and Kelly held onto it as she got ready for bed. Soon, her dad would be home, and maybe, armed with her new understanding, she could finally get some real answers about what he did.

  She fell asleep thinking about Vera's smile and the promise of having a real friend for the first time since the move. It felt like the beginning of something important, though she couldn't have said exactly what.