THE GLASS ASSASSIN: SECRETS OF TABLE 14

The dining room of Halcyon didn't notice the gun.

Keller held it low, perfectly concealed beneath the edge of the tablecloth. But the threat was absolute.

Victor froze, his grip on my shoulder tightening for a fraction of a second before slowly releasing. He looked at Keller with genuine shock, a rare emotion for a man who made his living breaking bones.

"Keller," Rourke said, his voice dropping an octave. "What do you think you’re doing?"

"I’m changing the terms of the deal," Keller replied, his eyes never leaving Victor. "Julian doesn't get her. And you don't get your fifty million."

I stood perfectly still, my mind racing.

Answer One: Julian was using my daughter to buy his life from Rourke.

Open Two: Why was Dean Keller, Rourke’s most loyal operator, committing treason in the middle of a crowded restaurant to save a waitress he supposedly didn't know?

"You're making a fatal mistake, Dean," Rourke warned. For the first time, the billionaire looked genuinely angry. The carefully constructed mask of civility was slipping.

"Move, Claire," Keller ordered softly. "Toward the kitchen. Now."

I didn't hesitate. I had survived Julian by knowing when to fight and when to run. Right now, running was my only play.

I backed away from the table, my eyes darting between Rourke and Keller. As soon as I cleared the chairs, I turned and sprinted for the heavy oak doors of the kitchen.

"Stop her!" Rourke barked.

I hit the swinging doors hard. The chaotic symphony of the kitchen—shouting chefs, clattering pans, hissing steam—hit me like a physical wall.

"Hey! You can't run in here!" the head chef yelled as I shoved past the plating station.

I ignored him, making a straight line for the alley exit. I burst through the steel service door, into the cold, damp Manhattan night.

The alley was dark, illuminated only by the flickering neon sign of the bodega on the corner. Trash bags were piled high, smelling of rotting vegetables and stale wine.

I stopped to catch my breath, leaning against the brick wall.

Then I saw him.

The waiter. The one who had placed the photograph.

He was slumped against the dumpsters, his white service jacket stained a deep, blooming crimson.

I rushed over to him, my pulse pounding in my ears. I placed two fingers against his neck. Nothing. He had been dead for at least ten minutes. Which meant someone else had been in this alley while Rourke was interrogating me.

I looked down at the dead man's hands. His right fist was clenched tightly around something.

With shaking fingers, I pried his stiffening fingers open.

It was a train ticket. Amtrak. Northeast Regional.

But the edges of the ticket were heavily charred, as if someone had tried to burn it but dropped it before the fire could consume the destination.

I held it up to the dim light.

Destination: Montauk, NY.

Passenger: Julian Vance.

My blood ran cold.

Answer One: Julian wasn't waiting at the docks like Rourke thought. He was in Montauk. Rourke was walking into a trap, and Julian had killed this waiter to ensure Rourke didn't find out the real location.

Open Two: If Rourke was being played, who was playing him? And how did Keller fit into all of this?

The heavy metal door of the kitchen slammed open.

I spun around, expecting Victor's gun.

Instead, it was Keller. He moved with the terrifying, silent speed of a former soldier. He grabbed my arm, yanking me away from the dead waiter.

"We have exactly three minutes before Rourke locks down a five-block radius," Keller said, dragging me toward a black SUV parked illegally at the end of the alley.

"Why are you helping me?" I demanded, fighting against his grip. "You work for Rourke!"

"Not anymore," Keller grunted, opening the passenger door and shoving me inside.

He climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine, and slammed his foot on the gas. The SUV tore out of the alley, throwing me back against the leather seat.

We wove violently through Manhattan traffic, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows. My chest heaved as I tried to process the last twenty minutes. My quiet, hidden life was gone. Mia was in the hands of a monster. And I was in a car with a man I couldn't trust.

"I found this on the waiter," I said, holding up the burnt ticket. "Julian is in Montauk. Not the docks. He’s setting Rourke up."

Keller glanced at the ticket. He didn't look surprised.

In fact, his expression was completely unreadable.

"I know," Keller said quietly.

I stared at him. A sickening reversal began to take shape in my mind.

"You know?" I whispered. "How could you know that?"

Keller didn't look at me. He kept his eyes on the road, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"Because I didn't save you back there to protect you, Evelyn," Keller said, using my real name for the first time. The sound of it coming from his mouth felt like a physical blow.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something small, tossing it into my lap.

I looked down.

It was a delicate, silver child’s charm bracelet. Woven with tiny sapphire beads.