The phone in my hand went dead.

Then, from the shaft above us, we heard the heavy, metallic sound of footsteps.

Nathan’s hand gripped my wrist, pulling me toward the back corner of the elevator cab.

The metallic scraping above us grew louder, accompanied by the muffled sound of men speaking.

“We need to get to Rosie,” I whispered, my voice shaking in the dark.

“She’s with Mrs. Gable on the fourth floor,” Nathan said, his voice low and steady.

He reached up, testing the ceiling hatch, but it was locked from the outside.

He turned to the control panel, pulling a small pocketknife from his jacket.

He jammed the blade into the narrow gap between the closed elevator doors.

With a grunt, he leaned his weight into the handle, leveraging the metal plates apart.

A thin crack of light from the third-floor hallway broke through the red gloom.

The opening was barely two feet wide, showing the concrete floor of the third floor about three feet above our heads.

“Up,” Nathan said, cupping his hands to form a step.