9
Dale wasted half a second studying the impenetrable crowd waiting for one of the four elevators before storming off. Mingled worry and frustration and not a little anger still burned in his gut. That should be plenty to fuel a climb the stairs, especially without his backpack or suitcase or anything.
By the time he reached the ninth floor, the exertion of hauling himself up the concrete stairwell had taken the edge off of everything. His heart pounded for a whole new reason, and he suspected that he’d sweated through his pants as well as his shirt. Other people had trudged up the stairs, passed by a few invincible sorts who probably ran marathons for fun every day before work, making the staircase a well of echoed noises and huffing and half-shouted conversations.
The ninth-floor corr
