The balcony off the second-floor landing was small.
Old iron railing. Stone floor worn smooth. A single outdoor chair that no one had brought in for the season yet, which in London meant it had been out here since the beginning of time and would remain out here until the building was demolished.
Liliana stood at the railing with her back to the door, phone to her ear, and the moonlight doing what London moonlight did..... thin and silver and somehow making everything look like it had already been decided.
Below and through the walls, the muffled sounds of the estate. The east lawn situation had concluded somewhere in the last twenty minutes, the specific quality of post-combat quiet settling over the building. The voices she could pick out were calm, which meant nothing had been structurally damaged.
She wasn't listening to any of it.
She was listening to the phone.
