APOLLO STAYED THERE on the bridge for how long—twenty minutes, maybe more? He stared at the phone as if it would speak. Whose voice would he hear? He stayed there clutching at the phone and waiting while passersby skirted around him, huffing with aggravation because of the space he occupied. People on bikes rang their bells or shouted to let them pass, but Apollo only stared at his phone like a caveman who had just discovered fire. Then another text appeared.

Follow the map.

Just like that, a map opened on Apollo’s screen. A grid appeared, and in a moment the contours of Chinatown were drawn in. A rendering of the Manhattan Bridge that mimicked an architectural plan, and on it a small blue dot that was Apollo’s phone. Now a red blip appeared at the far edge of his screen.

Come to me.

At first Apollo thought the red dot marked a spot in Chinatown, but as his blue dot came closer to the red dot, the map on the phone rearranged the city, nudging the red dot farther north. Not Chinatown but Little Italy, not Little Italy but NoLita. Apollo held on to his phone, a hook reeling him toward the fisherman. He stepped into traffic four different times and received a chorus of horns. He slammed into countless people as he moved on the sidewalks, but if they cursed him, he never noticed. He left NoLita and entered the East Village. He walked west until he reached Washington Square Park. The blue dot and red dot nearly overlapped now.

The Washington Square Arch mirrored the arch at the Manhattan Bridge. But where the first had felt like the gateway to his escape—a chance to cross the waters—the Washington Square Arch only led him farther inland. As soon as he passed through the archway, the map on Apollo’s phone closed. The application shut down, and he hadn’t been the one to close it. Another text message.

I see you.

Apollo wondered if this would turn into torture. A scavenger hunt across all of Manhattan, led by some mastermind who’d reveal himself—or herself—only at the end of the long game. Apollo didn’t have the patience for any bullshit like that.

Just tell me where the fuck you are or I’m leaving, he texted back.

The phone vibrated.

Sorry! I’m by the fountains.

An apologetic mastermind. That was a nice surprise.