Then Rhys stepped out from behind a velvet curtain, smiling. “Joe,” he said softly. “You finally came to the final exam.”

Joe didn’t flinch. Inside, the glass cage around his heart rattled.

The cages opened. The typewriters began clacking on their own, typing Joe’s entire history — the New York bookshop, Beck, Love, the cage in the basement — every murder, every lie, every justified sin.