The fire alarm continued its steady, maddening pulse.

I ran down the back stairwell, the concrete steps cold beneath my shoes.

Investigator Miller was just ahead of me, her flashlight beam cutting through the dimming light of the stairwell.

When we reached the heavy steel door of the sub-basement, we found Dina standing outside, holding a fire extinguisher.

“She locked herself in,” Dina said, her face streaked with soot. “The security guard ran off when he heard the sirens.”

Miller stepped up to the door and hammered on the metal with her fist.

“State Police! Open the door!” Miller yelled.

Inside, we could hear the sound of things being thrown, followed by a sharp cough.

“Marcus has the master key,” I told Miller.

Just then, Marcus ran down the stairs, his breathing heavy, holding a brass keyring.

He sorted through them with shaking hands until he found the long, notched key for the archive room.

He slid it into the lock and turned it.

The lock clicked, and Miller pushed the door open.

A wave of hot, acrid smoke rolled out into the hallway, making us all cough and shield our eyes.