“That’s what I said,” replied Leo.
“When did the new coffee wonder arrive?” I asked, with a nod toward the espresso machine: The words “Brewtiful Day” were written across it in cursive.
“About a week ago,” said Leo. “It does great hot chocolate. I just downloaded the app to get the machine to make one.” He pointed to a steaming mug on the counter. “You should try it.”
“Well, let’s see if this machine’s up to Prefect’s standards,” I said.
I reached down and hit the cappuccino button.
And in that same moment, the entire floor went dark.
Our office technically does not have windows. We have squares of illuminated glass meant to give the impression of windows. Without the power, we were plunged into pitch darkness.
Voices rang out from the cubicles.
“Who blew a breaker?”
“It must be a blackout.”
“None scheduled for today!”
“We have generators—even if there was a blackout, we should still have power.”
“What’s going on?” asked Leo. I could hear him behind me. “Was that you, Augusta?”
I bit my lip to stifle a sarcastic reply, that no, I had not in fact somehow managed to switch off the entire building’s power while trying to make coffee.
Or—at least I didn’t think I had.
“Stay here,” I said.
After three years, I knew the office by heart. I settled my hand on one of the cubicle walls and traced a path toward Prefect’s office. He kept a battery-powered lantern at his desk, and it cast a glow across his face. “Right,” he was saying into his phone. “Uh-huh. Of course.” When he hung up, he looked at me.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Something just triggered a lockdown procedure. An outside signal was detected—someone is trying to break into our systems.”
I wasn’t claustrophobic but I hated the sensation of being trapped. “We’re stuck in here?”
“Doors are all locked, elevators won’t arrive, lights are off,” he replied. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, at least I have an excuse to get an extension on my reports.” His hand fell away and he looked at me with tired eyes. “I don’t suppose you managed to make that coffee.”
“Um,” I said. “About that.”
The espresso machine sat on the counter, looking utterly innocent. We all stared at it.
Prefect aimed a flashlight at the machine. “You’resure the lockdown initiated when you tried to make my coffee?”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “Exact moment.”
“It can’t be the problem,” said Steve. He was an agent trainee in his early twenties, with auburn-brown hair, a pale countenance, black-rimmed glasses, and a lanky build. “It’s a coffee machine.”
“Who requisitioned it?” asked Keiko. I’d put her in her midthirties. She was a Japanese woman with sleek dark hair she kept in a bob. She was an ink technician—or, put into layperson’s terms, she designed biometric tattoos.
“It wasn’t me,” said Steve. “It came last week, with a shipment of office supplies.”
Leo said, “Coffee doesn’t cause blackouts. That’s alcohol.” He looked at me, totally sincere. “Or were you trying to make a”—he lowered his voice—“special coffee?”
I stared at him incredulously. “Of course not.”
