The hum of machinery never stops. Somewhere deeper in the building a generator runs, the low vibration traveling through the concrete floor and into the legs of the chair bolted beneath me.
The lights above buzz softly.
Too bright.
Too steady.
She’s waiting.
For something.
For someone.
She wants Laney to panic.
She wants Marco to rush in.
She wants time to stretch until doubt starts eating at me.
She underestimates one thing.
I’m very, very good at waiting.
Patience is a weapon most people don’t understand.
I start rocking the chair.
Slow.
Careful.
Just enough to shift the weight.
Metal groans softly beneath the movement.
I pause.
Listen.
No footsteps.
No doors.
Nothing.
Good.
I rock again.
Testing the bolts.
Testing the concrete beneath them.
Feeling the vibration through the chair legs.
Every sound is data.
Every vibration is a map.
