She adjusted her glasses and looked toward the office door.

“Let’s go before the night manager comes up to count the safe.”

I checked the desk drawer to make sure we hadn’t left anything behind.

The green lamp threw long, distorted shadows across the mahogany paneling.

This office had once belonged to my mother too.

She had sat in this very chair, looking at these same walls.

I reached into my pocket and touched the tarnished key.

We walked out of the office, locking the door behind us.

The hallway was dark, illuminated only by the red exit sign at the end of the corridor.

We walked down the back stairs, our footsteps muffled by the rubber treads.

When we reached the ground floor, the kitchen was quiet.

The line cooks had already cleaned their stations and left.

Only Mr. Alvarez remained, wiping down the stainless-steel prep tables.

He looked up as we passed, his eyes lingering on my face.

He didn’t say anything, but he gave me a slow, knowing nod.

“Goodnight, Mr. Alvarez,” I said softly.

“Goodnight, Harper,” he replied, his voice raspy.