The Secret In The Bloodlinethe Heavy Mahogany Door Of Elias Vance’s Private Penthouse Suite Clicked Shut, Sealing Out The Howling December Wind Of Manhattan And The Low, Menacing Hum Of The Idling Black Suvs Parked Five Stories Below. Inside, The Air Smelled Of Rich Leather, Expensive Scotch, And The Sharp, Sterile Scent Of Antiseptic That The Private Physician Had Used While Treating My Exhausted, Frostbitten Body.