“I—okay.”
“Where are you right now?”
“At my apartment.”
I stand up in an instant. “Don’t—”
“Well, notatmy apartment. I’m standing outside, wondering if I’m about to be the reason my entire building is asphyxiated. Is that the right word? Oh my fucking God, Hale, this is an emergency, isn’t it? I’m so stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” I mutter, already moving toward the door and grabbing my keys. “Just text me your address and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Until then, don’t enter your apartment.”
“But—”
“If nobody else’s alarms are going off, the building itself is likely safe for now, but wait for me to get there, okay?”
“Maybe I should just call the—”
“Lila. Obey my instructions. Text me your address. Wait for me. Got it?”
I hear a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. Then a meek: “Okay. Aye-aye, Captain.”
She hangs up and I duck into the hall closet to yank open the duffel of spare safety equipment I keep on hand out of pure habit. I grab the carbon monoxide detector and, though it won’t do a whole lot of good if it’s a bad leak, a disposable respirator.
A few seconds later, a text with her address comes through. She’s not far from me, just about ten blocks further uptown. What are the chances that we’d been circling so close long before we met, yet never ran into each other?
Instead of messing around with transportation, I jog to her place.
I find her crouched on the stoop, but she jumps to her feet the moment she sees me.
Her emerald eyes are wide. “Did you run here?”
“S’faster,” I mutter. “I don’t live far.”
“What? You don’t?”
“Nope.”
A smile dances on her lips. “Oh. Small world.”
My gaze drops to those lips, causing my brain to turn hazy for a brief second.
I clear my throat sharply. “Show me inside?”
“Right.”
I follow her into the building. It’s one of the classic pre-war walk-ups that most people who don’t earn at least six figures a year find themselves living in. There’s a strong scent of dust and roach repellent in the halls, but it’s an otherwise decently maintained building.
I hear the alarm when we reach the third floor. It’s faint, beeping from behind a door marked4LW, about once every ten to twelve seconds. Lila approaches it cautiously, keys in hand.
“Step aside and don’t follow until I clear it,” I tell her, then place the respirator over my face.
Pulling the handheld meter from my pocket, I take the keys from her and unlock the door.
The lock gives way with a dullthunk. I let the door creak open only an inch or two, and place the meter in the open crack.
Nothing.
I open it wider and take a step inside. Still nothing.
