One step. Two. Three. The folders press against my chest. My heels dangle from my other hand, bumping against my thigh with each step.
Ten steps. Eleven. Twelve. Landing. Turn.
My breathing echoes in the enclosed space. The sound bounces off concrete walls.
Twenty steps. Twenty-one. Landing. Turn.
About halfway up, the lights flicker. Once. Twice.
And then they go out completely.
I stop.
I’m a woman. Alone. In complete darkness. In an empty building at 2 AM.
Nobody knows I’m here.
Alex thinks I’m finishing up. Dom’s in his office four floors up. The building is empty. If something happened—if someone came in, if I fell, if the door locked behind me—nobody would know until Monday morning.
My heart’s doing something weird now. Not just the climb. This is different.
This is fear.
Real fear.
But I can’t go back. Dom’s waiting. And I can’t text Alex because my phone is laying on the flor in the stacks.
I’m alone in this. Completely alone.
Blind and shaking, I mentally count each time my feet land on the twist to the next floor. My free hand trails the wall. Concrete. Cold. Real.
Thirty steps. Thirty-one. My legs burn.
Forty steps. Landing. Turn.
The darkness is complete. No emergency lighting. No exit signs. Just blackness and the sound of my own breathing and my heartbeat loud in my ears.
Fifty steps. Fifty-one.
Fourth floor. Has to be.
I reach out, hand searching for the door handle. Cold metal under my palm.
Found it.
I ease the door open just a crack.
The fourth floor hallway is empty. Dark, except for a sliver of light at the far end. Dom’s office. His door sits cracked open—light spilling into the hallway.
Voices. Low at first, then rising. An argument carrying through the empty building.
I freeze, still hidden in the stairwell. The door is barely open—just enough to hear.
Do I step out? Announce myself? Or wait until they’re done and pretend I just arrived?
The voices get louder. Clearer.
And then?—
