Chapter 10 · Slot Nine

"Don't move." Marco's hand found my collarbone in the dark, flat, not gentle.

"The cage doesn't like sudden weight."

"The cage doesn't like being stuck between floors either." My voice came out steadier than my knees felt. The freight elevator had died mid-drop, the emergency stop grinding once, twice, then nothing. No hum. No red exit light. Just his breath two inches from my temple and the smell of diesel and his coat.

"Power's out on this whole line," he said.

"Cold room too. Somebody cut it at the panel."

"Somebody, or you?" His thumb pressed under my jaw, tipping my face up in the black like he could see me anyway.

"If I wanted you scared, Crowe, I wouldn't need to kill the lights. I'd just tell you what's waiting at the cold room door right now." That stopped me.

"What's waiting."

"A federal tip." He said it slow, like he liked how it landed.

"Somebody called it in an hour ago. Said there's a name going into slot nine tonight that shouldn't exist. Said the counting room's dirty. They're parked at the entrance, Lila. Two cars.