He was still on the terrace at midnight when the elevator opened.
He had been there for five hours.
He had not planned to be there for five hours.
He had come up at seven for air.
He had stayed because the air was still there and the city was still there and going back to the guest suite meant sitting in a room that was too nice and too quiet and too full of the specific sound of his own thinking.
So he stayed.
He watched the city.
He thought about same.
About I'm coming back.
About the way Kendrick had looked at him in the forty minutes before the dinner.
About the map.
About the two real choices.
He did not count exits.
He watched the city.
He waited.
-----
The elevator opened.
He didn't turn immediately.
He heard the footsteps.
He knew them by now.
The specific weight and pace of them.
Kendrick came to stand beside him at the railing.
He was holding the dinner jacket in one hand.
The tie was still on but loosened.
He looked tired.
