Chapter 15 · Whoever's Turning That Wheel

"Give me the key." I hold my palm out flat, like he owes me rent.

Torin doesn't move. The crank key sits against his chest on a chain, warm from his skin, and he's got his arms crossed over it like I'm going to reach in and grab it off him. Which, honestly, I might.

"No," he says.

"Halloran said an hour. We don't have an hour. The box has cameras on it right now, Torin, and if I'm not back in that seat before the horn, Delacroix writes 'unexcused absence' in his little book and mails it to every bondholder on the list."

"Then I guess you'll be in the little book."

The pump room hums around us, pipes ticking as the compressor cycles, and somewhere above our heads, muffled through eight feet of concrete, the PA system is counting down intermission. Nine minutes. I can hear it because some idiot wired a speaker down here so maintenance wouldn't miss a Zamboni call, and right now it's the loudest thing in the room besides my own pulse.

"You want