Kyle sat in the back of a black cab, the London streets sliding past the window like frames of a film he couldn't quite focus on. His phone screen glowed with the results of an hour's work—total recall making short work of public records, alumni directories, and a dozen smaller databases he had learned to navigate years ago.
The school.
It was one of the better institutions in London. Not ancient like Oxford or Cambridge, but respected. Private and very expensive. Specializing in fine arts—painting, sculpture, digital media. The kind of place where wealthy families sent daughters who had talent but no need for a traditional career.
"Perfect for hiding someone." Kyle thought to himself even though this family had no reason to do, but Kyle didn't eliminate the possibility that whoever adopted her was one of Nakamura's'.
