Page 79

“I guess so,” I mutter.

And the elevator opens on a wall of noise.

We dive in. Machines chiming. Coins and chips clinking. People milling and chatting, a bachelorette party in matching sashes chanting about shots, a craps table with a crowd three deep, everyone cheering over a roll.

Immediately, Fox pulls me into the back of it, right up against the rail, his arm slung around my shoulders. I put my face against his chest, and just in time, as two floormen with earpieces pass behind us, close enough that I smell their cologne.

Under my cheek, Fox’s heart is pounding like a drum. Or mine is. I can’t tell the difference.

“Which way?” I breathe, when they’re gone. “Do you see⁠—”

“There.” Fox drops his grip on me and nods so I can follow his gaze. “That one?”

The opposite wall, not far but blocked by a maze of games and people, has a discreet door, same brownish color as the wall, with a flaring green EXIT sign above it. And below that, a smaller, typewritten sign: STAFF ONLY.

I nod. Fox nods back, licks his lips. “You think there’s an alarm?”

Doesn’t matter, I think. But I shake my head. “Let’s just go.”

We go. We don’t run, quite—I don’t think I could, in these heels, and for exactly one second I think about how my coat is somewhere behind us in a coat check that I’ll probably never see again. Doesn’t matter, because we make it to the door. Down a beige-walled hallway, past a cart of dirty linens and random wall-mounted phones, me almost panting to keep up with Fox, wiggling and wobbling on my goddamn stilettos, until at last we come to a heavy metal door with a greasy latticed window, EXIT beaming above it again.

Fox hits the bar with his hip, and night air hits my face, beautifully cool.

“Nice,” Fox says, and spins around. “You good?”

I nod, staggering on my heels down the step down and trying to get my bearings. It’s some sort of narrow gap between the casino building and a delivery bay, all gray concrete and dumpsters and a single sodium light buzzing on the wall behind us. Directly ahead, I see it, a familiar structure. Fifth-floor connecting skywalk. Floors and floors of yellow windows. Light from pink lamps.

The hotel.

“Here.”

I pivot to where Fox, now on my right, points, and relief washes over me. I can see the glow of the lot from here, maybe two hundred yards⁠—

I take one step toward it, and my ankle rolls.

“Fuck!”

Pain flares up my leg as I topple sideways, the bare point of the heel skidding away under me.

“Whoa!” Fox’s hand shoots out and catches my elbow before I go down. “Whoa. Hey. You okay?”

My heart is jackhammering, my chest is too tight.

“I’m fine.” I lean on him. “These stupid shoes—I’m fine.”

But I’m not. I’m not because now my chest feels strapped, like I’m stuck in my binder again, but tighter, tighter, and the air is thin besides.

My hands start to tingle.

No, I think. Fuck, no. Not now. Not here.

The buzzing light is too bright. I can hear the elevator, and under all of it a hotel air conditioner rattling in its wall. And a pink lamp. The ugly pink lamp, and I’m looking at it, I’m staring at it, I’m⁠—

“Tink.”

I can’t. I shake my head. Can’t. Can’t walk, can’t get air in. Can’t.

“Tink. Hey.” Fox has both hands on my shoulders. He’s ducked down to my level, his face right in front of mine. “Look at me. Just me. It’s Fox. I’ve got you, okay? We’re just in this alley. Nothing’s happening.”