Chapter 1
Nadia Petrova checked her watch for the third time in a minute. The night train to Trieste was never late, and tonight it was eleven minutes late.
“Relax,” said Milo, tipping his hat over his eyes. “Trains are like debts. They always arrive.”
“Yours arrive,” Nadia said. “Mine derail.”
The platform lights flickered once, twice, and then the rails began to sing — that thin metal hum that comes before the engine’s glow rounds the hill. Nadia picked up the leather case she had been told never to open and never to leave, and stepped toward the edge of the platform.
“Whatever happens after Trieste,” Milo said quietly, suddenly awake, “you were never here, and I was never with you.”
“Then who bought you dinner?”
“A stranger,” he said, smiling. “A generous, forgettable stranger.”
The train pulled in with a long exhale of steam. Somewhere near the back, in the sleeper car with the painted-over windows, a light went on.
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