He closed his eyes, back into the feed from the drone, to find Verity seated as he’d last seen her, on the pale couch in the San Francisco hotel, eyes shut, beneath the makeshift controller. Stetson Howell, her venture capitalist, wasn’t in sight, nor was his fiancée, the French architect. Virgil, the man who’d met the van in front of the hotel, had pulled up an armchair and now sat facing Verity, engrossed with the screen of his manual phone.