“PATEL.”
Rani fought her way out of a deep sleep. She’d been dreaming. Something about street kids chasing her up winding stairs in a white tower. Each step had a different phone number written on it. She needed to find the right number to escape the tower before the kids caught her and dragged her to an abandoned hospital.
To make it worse, someone was yelling at her. “Patel!”
And shaking her.
“G’way,” she mumbled, slapping at the hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes. She was sitting at Harry Lyle’s paper-strewn desk, her head on top of those papers. Tommy McIvers was shaking her shoulder.
She sat up, squinting at him. “Tommy. Hi. Evening.” She removed a Post-It sticking to her face.
“Evening? It’s eight in the morning, Patel.” He frowned. “Are those the same clothes you had on
