When I’ve gathered all the pieces in my cupped hands, I stand up. My legs are shaky. I hold out the scraps in both hands like an offering.
“Can I go now?” I croak.
When I’m back in the lobby, I dump the scraps in the waste bin next to my desk. My hands are still trembling, so I wipe them on my skirt even though there’s nothing on them.
The pen. Right. I need to go get the pen.
I head back toward the unmarked door, the one Lukas dragged me through this morning. It’s still there, blending into the wall like it doesn’t want to be found. I push it open and step into the darkness.
The hallway is just as cramped and unlit as before. My heels are so painfully loud and harsh on my frayed nerves that I leave them by the entrance and sneak in on bare feet.
As I walk, I keep one hand on the wal
