Aslan took a sip of his tea.

If it killed him, Allah intervened.

If he lived, it was time to forge a new path of regrets.

“The Regatta is soon. There is always something seedy happening at the pier those nights … but during the Angel Hotel’s ball? It’s the worst.”

He touched his chin, peering at her.

“Go there with a notebook and make a list. Find out as much as you can about ten people that night. Pay attention to who talks to you more easily. To who you can get a faster read on.”