Grace let go of the elevator door and let it slide shut with a dull metallic clang.

“The side stairs,” Grace said, grabbing her briefcase. “Let’s go.”

We walked quickly down the carpeted hallway, our footsteps muffled.

I adjusted the strap of the diaper bag on my shoulder, feeling the hard edge of the silver flash drive inside.

Lily whimpered in her sleep but did not wake.

We pushed through the heavy fire door and descended the concrete steps.

The air in the stairwell was cool and smelled of industrial cleaner.

When we stepped out onto the street, the mid-morning heat hit us like a wall.

Manhattan was a blur of yellow cabs, delivery trucks, and people rushing past with coffee cups.

The hum of traffic was deafening after the quiet of the Whitmore offices.

“Two blocks,” Grace said, her eyes scanning the street. “Keep your head down.”

We walked quickly along the cracked concrete pavement.

My heart was beating in my throat, a steady, frantic rhythm.

We reached the corner of 4th Street and saw the green awning of the coffee shop.