I reached the heavy metal fire door that led to the utility stairs.

I pushed it open just enough to slip through, making sure the latch didn’t click.

The air in the stairwell was always ten degrees colder than the rest of the building.

It smelled of damp mortar, old dust, and the fuel oil we used to heat the radiators.

I went down the concrete steps one by one, holding the cold iron handrail.

My slippers made no sound on the dusty treads.

With every flight I descended, the rumble of the boiler grew louder.

It was a deep, mechanical heartbeat that vibrated through the soles of my shoes.

I reached the basement level and stood in the darkness of the corridor.

A single bulb hung from a frayed wire near the laundry room, swaying slightly.

The door to the boiler room was at the far end of the hall, painted a chipped industrial green.

It was propped open with an old wooden wedge.

A sliver of bright yellow light cut across the grey concrete floor.

I crept closer, my heart hammering against my ribs.