Maya finished a call from a man whose elevator had stopped between floors. The doors were opening by the time he admitted he had thought he was going to die. She told him he'd given them what they needed. He thanked her twice and went out into the lobby.
At 11:17 her direct line rang.
She already knew Elias was at Calder's. Luis had Rae's report. Imani had stepped to the fire desk to pass on the continuing work and the change in sound.
“There's another one,” Elias said.
Maya pressed a hand to the desk. “What does it say?”
“I'll play it. Listen.”
He held the old phone to the personal phone he was using to call her. A faint click, a wash of room noise, then Rae's recorded voice came through.
“Dad, I can hear you. I'm coming back through the kitchen.”
The file ended.
Maya stared at the direct-line display. This was her daughter on a recording Elias had just received, saying something she might say eleven minutes from now.
“Again,” she said.
He played the whole fragment. No alarm in the background. No scream. Rae sounded intent and close, gathering herself to move.
“Where are you?”
“In the service doorway. Rae's outside.”
“Is there smoke?”
“Not yet. Something's wrong with the feed. Len's by the door. We were trying to finish, but—”
“Can you get outside?”
“Yes. I'm right here.”
“Go. Take this call outside.”
She heard the scrape of a shoe, then nothing. He hadn't answered.
“Elias.”
“She's alive in it.”
Maya felt the same terrible relief. She could hear her daughter, alive enough to make a decision. Then the words came back. Coming back.
“It doesn't tell us what happens after she says that.”
“I know.”
“You heard her last night. That call didn't happen.”
“I know, Maya.” His voice rose. “I'm not saying it proves anything. I heard her. I needed to hear her.”
Behind him Len said something indistinct. Elias covered the phone poorly enough that Maya heard him answer, “A minute.”
“No,” she said when he came back. “Outside. Talk to me there.”
“Is she going to come back?”
“I can't know that.”
“Tell her what I heard.”
“I will. Where are you now?”
“Same place.”
“Then move.”
He breathed against the microphone. The next sound was a heavier footfall, followed by Len saying his name more loudly.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm back by it. We've disturbed it. I have to finish the isolation, then we'll leave.”
“Tell the assigned operator what's left. The crew is coming.”
“They know the room.”
“I want you out of the room.”
His silence was so familiar she wanted to shout through it. She had spent years letting him pause until he'd chosen what she would hear.
“Elias. Go outside.”
“I'll call the line.”
He disconnected.
Maya relayed the live details to Imani. Elias had been able to step out. He'd stayed to speak and gone back toward the earlier work. He said he was attempting isolation. The equipment had worsened. She gave the fourth recording's words too.
Imani passed the update. Luis was still handling Rae's incident information.
With permission, Maya tried her daughter's cell phone. The line was busy while Rae spoke to the operator. Maya sent the exact words instead, identifying them as the new saved fragment: Dad, I can hear you. I'm coming back through the kitchen. Received now, not a live call. It doesn't tell us you'll be safe.
She hated how cold the last sentence looked. She added: Please stay outside. Help is on the way.
Rae answered almost at once: I am outside. All eleven residents out. He's still in there.
Maya looked at the clock. Less than two minutes since he'd called.
Her ordinary queue lit. A woman couldn't get her brother to answer his door. Maya took the call and asked the address. The woman had a key but was afraid to use it because he'd shouted the last time she came without asking.
Maya asked what his last message had said.
Across the room, Luis turned sharply toward Imani.
Maya stayed with the woman. She had the address wrong by one digit. The caller corrected her, and Maya repeated it back.
Then the room radio carried a smoke report from Calder's.