The floor beneath our feet began to vibrate with a steady, low rumble.

A single emergency spotlight on the wall flickered on, casting a yellow glow over the room.

At the same instant, the glass front door of the lobby rattled as someone knocked heavily on the pane.

I peered through the shadows of the lobby toward the glass entrance.

A silhouette stood against the streetlights, drenched in the heavy San Francisco rain.

Behind the first figure, a second, taller shape held a large black umbrella over them both.

“Are we expecting a delivery?” Derek asked, wiping his greasy hands on a rag.

“Not at ten o’clock on a Tuesday during a power grid failure,” I said.

I walked toward the door, my boots squeaking on the wet linoleum.

The emergency spotlight from the hallway threw our long shadows across the glass.

I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the heavy door open.

A gust of damp wind swept into the lobby, carrying the scent of wet asphalt and expensive French perfume.

“Sarah, darling,” my mother said, stepping inside before I could speak.