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“No, where was it?”

“At the entrance to the labyrinth. It’s for you. I dedicated it to you, and I’ve been trying to reach you. I wanted you to be my special guest for tonight, but no one could find you.” She smiles. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

My heart is going so fast, the room threatening to spin, and then Ryan Holder is standing next to Daniela with his arm around her. He’s wearing a tweed jacket, his hair is graying, and he’s paler and less fit than the last time I saw him, which was impossibly at Village Tap last night at his celebration for winning the Pavia Prize.

“Well, well,” Ryan says, shaking my hand. “Mr. Pavia. The man himself.”

Daniela says, “Guys, I have to go be polite and mingle, but, Jason, I’m having a secret get-together at my apartment after this. You’ll come?”

“I’d love to.”

As I watch Daniela vanish into the crowd, Ryan says, “Want to get a drink?”

G.o.d yes.

The gallery has pulled out all the stops—tuxedoed waiters carrying trays of appetizers and Champagne, and a cash bar on the far side of the room under a triptych of Daniela self-portraits.

As the barkeep pours our whiskies—Macallan 12s—into plastic cups, Ryan says, “I know you’re doing just fine, but I got these.”

It’s so strange—he carries none of the arrogance and swagger of the man I saw holding court last night at my local bar.

We take our Scotches and find a quiet corner away from the mob surrounding Daniela.

As we stand there watching the room fill with more and more people emerging from the labyrinth, I ask, “So what have you been up to? I feel like I lost track of your trajectory.”

“I moved over to U Chicago.”

“Congrats. So you’re teaching?”

“Cellular and molecular neuroscience. I’ve been pursuing some pretty cool research as well, involving the prefrontal cortex.”

“Sounds exciting.”

Ryan leans in close. “All seriousness, the rumor mill has been crazy. The whole community’s talking. People saying”—he lowers his voice—“that you cracked up and lost your mind. That you’re in a rubber room somewhere. That you’re dead.”

“Here I am. Lucid, warm, and breathing.”

“So that compound I built for you…it worked out, I a.s.sume?”

I just stare at him, no idea what he’s talking about, and when I don’t provide an immediate answer, he says, “Right, I get it. They’ve got you buried under a mountain of NDAs.”

I sip my drink. I’m still hungry, and the alcohol is traveling too fast to my head. When the next waiter pa.s.ses within range, I grab three mini-quiches off the silver tray.

Whatever is bugging him, Ryan can’t let it go.

“Look, I don’t mean to b.i.t.c.h,” he says, “but I just feel like I did a lot of work for you and Velocity in the dark. You and I go way back, and I get that you’re in a different place in your career, but I don’t know…I think you got what you wanted from me and…”

“What?”

“Forget it.”

“No, please.”

“You could’ve shown your old college roommate a little more respect is all I’m saying.”

“What compound are you talking about?”