"I needed to remind you—"
"Of what?"
"Of where you belong."
Her hand climbs my forearm, nails biting into skin. "I belong where I stand."
He tries to step toward her. I move first. Shoulder angling, body between them. My hand comes off the Glock and flattens against his chest, driving him backward.
"Step back," I say.
His eyes lock on mine. They move past me to Felix, to Arden, to Frankie. His face changes. "What is this?" he asks.
"This is the part where you stop talking," I say.
He lifts his hand. The gesture that used to summon security. Silence.
He calls out, louder. "Security!"
The corridor stays empty.
He jabs at the elevator button. The panel stays dark. Arden's hand is in his jacket pocket. The elevator died the moment we entered the corridor.
Harrison's breathing comes faster. His composure cracks at the edges, jaw working, eyes darting. He's the only person in this hallway without a weapon or without a way out, and he's just figured it out.
"Phoenix said you don't leave this building," I tell him. "He's right."
His mouth opens. Closes. I can see the shape of the words, but I can't make them out. Sloane can. Her breath hitches. Her hold clamps on my wrist.
"What did he say?" I ask.
"Come here." She swallows. "He said 'come here.'"
My hand slides to cradle the back of her neck. "He doesn't get to pull you."
"I know. Knox," Sloane says. Quiet. Steady. "Take him downstairs."
Her face is pale and her hands are still. But her eyes are clear. She knows what downstairs means.
"Are you sure?" I ask. Just for her.
"He sold girls in this building. He tried to sell me. He grabbed me and followed me. Sent flowers to our house and sat in our parking lot." Her voice stays level, each sentence placed with precision. "Take him downstairs."
Felix opens the service stairwell door.
I grab Harrison by the back of his collar and shove him forward. He stumbles, catches himself on the railing, and tries to twist free. I grip tighter, fist bunching expensive fabric, and pushhim down the stairs. His shoes slip on the concrete. His shoulder hits the wall.
"You can't do this," he says. "Do you know what I—"
"Keep walking."
Sloane follows. Two steps behind me. Her footsteps are even on the concrete. Frankie and Arden bring up the rear. Felix leads us down two flights to the basement level.
The stairwell opens into a service corridor. Exposed pipes overhead. Concrete floor. It smells of dust, old water, machinery. The guts of the building, stripped of the pretension the floors above wear.
Felix stops at a metal door marked C. He opens it with a key card.
Inside is a concrete room. Bare bulb overhead. A drain in the floor. A metal chair bolted to the center. The walls are cinder block, unpainted. The kind of room that exists in every building this size. The kind of room the people upstairs pretend they don't know about.
