Calvin put his thumb over the flashlight lens, letting only a thin sliver of yellow light spill between his fingers.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered.

The air in the hallway was already growing colder.

I gripped the edge of Elliot’s ledger tightly against my ribs.

We stepped out of the office and into the corridor that led to the mezzanine.

Below us, the vast expanse of the warehouse floor stretched out like a dark cavern.

The towering metal racks of inventory looked like skeletal fingers in the dimness.

A cold draft swept through the space, carrying the scent of damp cardboard and engine exhaust.

“Calvin,” I breathed. “Did you lock the side bay?”

“I did,” he said, his voice flat and tense.

A shadow moved near the shipping desk three levels down.

The beam of a high-powered flashlight cut through the dark, sweeping across the rows of wooden pallets.

It was not a patrol guard; the sweep of the light was too hurried, too frantic.

We crouched behind the steel railing of the catwalk.

The flashlight beam bounced up toward our position, and I ducked my head, my cheek pressing against the cold metal.