The elevator opens at the nineteenth floor. I step out. Guests daydrink at the bar and chat amongst themselves at tables. The scene is less illicit than I remember as I step through the area.
I don my Frankie Pear Greene lanyard as I step through the area. Eyes flit to me but drift away at the sight of the lanyard, like it’s a repellent. I would like to know what it implies to quiet conversations.
On the way to the staffing area Jeremiah first led me to, a security guard sees through my facade of belonging. ‘Where’s your photo on that lanyard, missy?’
I stare off my phone, not completing my reading of Jeremiah’s message. ‘To be taken.’
‘Yeah?’ He grabs the dangling ID card out of nowhere and yanks it to his eyes, tightening the strap around my neck. I swallow down a choke.
His buddy
