Chapter 8: DisobedienceTHE DOOR CRASHES shut behind me. It dampens the high-pitched shriek only slightly. My pants bind at the knees and threaten to slip past bony hipbones. I clutch them with one hand and race toward the elevator. I’m panting by the time I round the corner. There’s a sort of gold tape netting spanning the walls. It looks fragile. I grit my teeth and run harder.
Heavy boots thundering. The inspector shouts. I disobey his order to stop and face the wall. There’s no time to feel guilty about it.
Voices murmur and complain from behind too-thin walls. A few doors crack open—a flash of bloodshot eyes under wrinkled brows—and snap shut as I pass. I’d assumed the residents of Floor 20 were mostly deaf or sedated into passivity. The enforcers had shown no particular concern over
