THE ASH OF THE HARRINGTON'SThe neon sign of the Harrington Flagship Hotel did not buzz with the proud, rhythmic hum of the elite anymore. Instead, it flickered weakly in the damp night air, two of its massive gold-plated letters completely burnt out, casting an asymmetric, ghostly shadow over the cracked London pavement below. The gold-plated revolving doors, which had once spun with a majestic whoosh to welcome billionaires, politicians, and syndicators, were now chained shut. A heavy padlocked chain, already beginning to rust from the persistent British drizzle, held the curved glass panels in a permanent, dead embrace. The empire had fallen, and it had fallen fast.Across the street, buried deep in the dark recess of a damp brick alleyway, Celeste pulled the high collar of her oversized trench coat tighter against the biting wind. She was no longer wearing the stiff, uncomfortable black maid’s unif
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