Good thing Kingsley hands out the clues next, telling the teams that the first to complete the task and send in photographic proof wins that challenge.

On the count of three, the teams rip open the envelopes. I peer at the piece of paper, reading the words.

Everyone likes to leave his or her mark. It’s a sign of the human condition to paint, scrawl, draw, or write your name on a wall. Indeed, graffiti is found all over this city, even in an Egyptian area, where the years don’t always align, but where a signature arrived out of time.

Find it, take a photo with your team, then snap a picture outside demonstrating how you work together. Two-hour deadline. Fifty points.

18LULU

We huddle. We confab. We study the clue, whispering it under our collective breaths. We speak with hushed voices, as if we’re protecting something precious, and we try to figure out where this riddle might lead us.

And then, it crystallizes. Like the sun rising over the horizon, and all at once the sky is bright. “I know what it is.”

I gather them close and tell my team members. Leo’s smile is magnetic and proud. Noah thrusts a fist in the air, John Bender Breakfast Club–style.

Ginny squeezes my arm. “Girl power.”

I point to the subway entrance. “Let’s get on the nearest train.”

My feet are ready to fly when Noah slices a hand through the air. “This is the wrong time of day for the subway. It’ll take fifteen minutes, but we can snag an Uber like that, and be uptown in ten.”

Noah whips out his cell phone, swipes his thumb across it, and, like he’s the fastest draw in the West, he calls an Uber. It’s here in forty-five seconds.

“Impressive transportation skills,” Ginny says.

“I have many impressive skills.”

“Is that so?”

“That is indeed so. I can share them with you over dinner.”

“We should have dinner to talk about your impressive skills?”

“We could have dinner to talk about other impressive things.”

Ginny shakes her head, laughing as we head uptown, and I guess Noah’s attempt to ask out Ginny hasn’t quite hit the mark.

Along the way, I send a quick text to Cameron, who’s still on the road working on more deals, and then to my new shop manager, who’s been doing a bang-up job so far here in Manhattan. All is well, they report.

I breathe a sigh of relief and devote all my energy to riddling.

Ten minutes later, we arrive at our destination.

The desire to run is intense. It looks like we’re the first team here, and we hoof it up the steps, taking them two by two into the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I don’t see any other teams here as we grab our tickets, thrusting bills at the ticket taker because credit cards would take too long, and then we race-walk down the corridor like we’re 1980s New Yorkers doing that speed-walking thing, elbows snapping at our sides, legs moving as quickly as they can.

Down the hall, we scurry past a sign for a Gustav Klimt visiting exhibit in the other wing, then rush by the Tomb of Perneb, and after that a gilded coffin.

A temple stands tall and proud in the middle of the museum, and it takes my breath away. More than two thousand years old, it must have so many stories to tell.

“If walls could talk,” I whisper as we reach the Temple of Dendur, seen in films like When Harry Met Sally and Ocean’s 8. We hunt around, trying desperately to find the graffiti.

My heart beats faster, and I hope I haven’t made a mistake by assuming this is the location from the clue. I don’t know if there actually is any graffiti on this temple, but when I read the clue, I had a gut feeling.

As I turn the corner, scanning the walls, I gasp.

“Guys.” I motion for them to come over. I point to a name and a year carved into the temple. Leonardo 1820.

Leo regards it with a curious huh. “Who do you think that is?”

“Your long-lost relative?” Noah chimes in.

I glance at Leo. “Now you know I want to find out.”

Noah shakes a finger at me. “Now is not the time to satisfy your curiosity, Miss Diamond. We need to finish up the task because we’re on track to be the first team to win today, and hopefully to beat everyone else by a long shot.”

“My, my, someone is slightly competitive,” Ginny remarks.

He shoots her an isn’t that obvious look. “I have my reasons.”

“What are they?”

He looks her over. “Everyone loves a winner.”

Ah, there’s more to his competitiveness than I’d thought. Noah is trying to win her heart by . . . winning.

Noah gathers us all in front of the temple, and we take a selfie, pointing to the graffiti. Our photograph is proof that we were here, and hopefully we’re the first to reach our clue.

As we rush back outside to complete the last item in the task—a photo demonstrating teamwork—Leo nudges me. “What do you think that graffiti was all about? I saw on a placard that some European tourists left marks on the temple way back when this was still in Egypt.”

“That’s what I think it was. Graffiti, plain and simple.”

“You don’t think that guy was anyone special?”

“Everyone is someone special. But no, I don’t think it means anything. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”

“And sometimes Leonardo from the early 1800s likes to leave his mark on temples?”

“Evidently.” I smile at him, and he shoots an easy, lopsided one back at me.

Sometimes conversations are simple. Sometimes they’re about what they’re about.

They aren’t about fear or worry or anything else. They aren’t about whether someone is coming home late or drunk or has missed another day of work.

They are what they are.

Once we’re on the front steps again, we toss around ideas for how to show teamwork, and we settle on an easy answer, but one that demonstrates it perfectly.

I take a deep, steadying breath. “Don’t drop me.”