A man returns to New York after a decade away, his pockets nearly empty but his pride intact. Steele Kenyon has ten dollars to his name and a dinner that will cost most of it, yet he watches the Broadway crowds with the detached amusement of someone who has seen more of the world than he cares to remember. Then a veiled woman climbs into a hansom cab and mistakes him for someone else entirely. She is desperate. There is a dying man. She needs him now. Against every instinct, Kenyon follows her into the dark. What follows is a night of confrontation and secrets, where each step deeper into the mystery brings him closer to a truth he never sought. McIntyre writes with the atmospheric precision of a city that never sleeps, its streets slick with November rain and its secrets as numerous as its electric lights. The novel moves with the propulsive momentum of early noir, each chapter pulling Kenyon further from the life he thought he left behind and closer to a past that refuses to stay buried. This is a story about the thin membrane between respectability and ruin, and how one wrong turn in the dark can unravel everything.
