He decided to give Archer Street a miss for now and went straight home to his little flat. Mrs. Fortune had found it for him when he’d first started working at the paper and it was exactly what he needed. Above a laundry, private, with room for a darkroom. There was space for the bike in the little courtyard at the bottom of the steps and the woman who ran the laundry made an effort to keep a few pots of flowers around the edges. The laundry women came outside to smoke and gossip and the door and windows were often open because of the heat.
He climbed the steps, deep in thought. It hadn’t occurred to him Mira might be found by simple street-tramping detective work. He’d been so focused on following her energy, he hadn’t thought to simply follow her in person. If she was singing—and she pr
