The doors slid open.

I stepped out onto the concrete platform.

The air smelled of damp earth and electrical ozone.

I walked quickly, keeping my head down, blending in with a small crowd of late-night commuters.

I took the stairs up to the street level two at a time.

When I pushed through the heavy metal turnstiles and exited the station, the cold rain hit my face.

The wind blew hard off the harbor, rattling the iron signs above the empty shops.

The bank was just half a block away.

Its granite pillars loomed in the darkness.

I ran across the wet asphalt, my sneakers splashing through deep puddles.

The heavy brass doors of the bank were unlocked.

A single security guard sat behind a curved wooden desk in the lobby.

He looked up from his newspaper, his eyes scanning my wet hair and the bundle on my chest.

“Can I help you, miss?” he asked.

“I need to access a safety deposit box,” I said, my voice shaking.

“We close the vault in ten minutes,” he said, looking at the clock on the wall.