Desirae wedged her phone between her ear and shoulder, rifling through her purse. Inside, the metal of Cora's broken sculpture clanked together. As she unzipped a pocket, her brows knitted with worry. Greg's voicemail message played out instead of ringing. She slid the phone down from her ear and typed out a text, but I could tell by the frown on her face that it wasn't going through.

The glow of her phone lit up the keypad. Her thumb hovered over the nine.

"I wouldn't," I warned. "If it's..." I couldn't bring myself to say Rafael's name out loud. "This is Pino's warehouse. He's got guys on the force. He won't let his own kid go down for something like this."

"Looks like it's just you and me then." Desirae tapped her flashlight back on and pulled out the pair of bent paper clips I had used last night to break into the room backstage.

I took them from her cautiously. "Should I be concerned that you kept these?"

Lit by the glow of her phone light, her brown eyes flashed with the hint of a smile. "My own little memento mori."

"A reminder to break the rules 'cause we're all gonna die?"

"Something like that."

She shined her light back over the steel door and I knelt down against the cement loading ramp to get to work. Like backstage, this door had a standard deadbolt lock, but as I tried to run the top paperclip upwards in the keyway, the pins wanted to stick, all corroded and rusted to shit like the rest of the door. Even when we had keys, it always gave us trouble in the past.

"A little WD-40 would go a long way right about now," I grumbled, trying to budge free the binded pins inside.

"How about some vanilla mint?"

I looked up from the door to find Desirae holding out a compact lip balm container. Grabbing it from her, I took the opportunity to rub it against my lips first before gouging a finger through the balm, then slathered the clump in the keyway.

My lips pressed together with determination as I raked the clip through the hole again. Vanilla mint soothed the swollen cut on the inside of my lip that I'd been chewing on all day. "Hmm, that's actually pretty nice."

Loosened by the balm's oils, the pins sprung up inside the mechanism. After just a few quick passes, they finally clicked into place and I twisted the paperclips to unlock the door.

"Good girl," Desirae whispered behind me and tucked her phone back into her purse. She swiftly tied up half her locs into a bun, stoic and focused in contrast to my blushing hot mess. At this point, she knew exactly what she was doing. It brought to mind how ancient Greek warriors would fuck each other before battle in order to bond and create loyalty. Reaching beneath the hem of her sundress, she slid it up past the holstered gun on her thigh, just inches from my face. "I'm gonna have you open the door, but then stay behind me."

I couldn't help but stare at the glisten of her leg in front of me as she withdrew the gun, feeling slightly terrified, slightly turned on. "You got another one strapped up in there for me?"

"Are you a good shot?"

"Hell no," I snorted. "Wait, does that mean you do?" My eyes traced the contour of her legs up to her hips, searching for another gun against the moonlight.

"Just stay behind me." She kept the muzzle pointed away and towards the ground, low and ready. "We don't know what we're walking into."

My heart raced as I pushed up from the cement ramp to my feet. I shook my hands out before clasping the door handle. Adrenaline tingled the tips of my fingers. Flush with the brick, Desirae gave me a nod. As I cranked the handle down, my arms remembered the weight of the old door. It had always been a pain to try to open with an extra-large pizza from Dom's in your hands. I made sure to tug it hard and Desirae swiftly slipped inside without hesitation.

Darkness enshrouded us as the door fell closed behind. I could just make out Desirae's silhouette in front of me, sweeping from left to right. A low mechanical buzz thrummed through the air. Wet metal and dank mildewy brick clogged my nose. Shadows of heavy equipment and wooden pallets from the warehouse's former days as Bay City Iron blocked out the streetlights from the windows. My eyes slowly adjusted as I tried to follow the white of Desirae's dress through the darkness like a ghost.

"That's the stairwell we used to access the studio and the loft," I whispered as we passed.

"And ahead?"

Past a brick column, new interior walls enclosed what used to be empty space where the old loading bay opened up from the outside. A wide, shiny steel door was its only entry from what I could see. The hum grew louder as we approached.

"That's definitely new."

Desirae turned away from the door and looked back towards the stairway. "Cora?" Her voice was met with the silent hum coming from within the walls behind us.

"What if the killer just stashed her car here?"

"It's certainly possible." The whites of her eyes flicked from the stairwell to the steel door. "We should clear the upper floors first."

"Should. But that's not what your gut is telling you." Even in the dark, I could see it in her eyes. "You've been right about everything else."

"Not everything." Her gaze fell back onto me as she weighed her decision. What felt like minutes was barely a second. She looked over her shoulder once more at the stairwell, then turned to the door.

Just like before, my fingers wrapped around the cold metal handle while Desirae readied herself on the side. At her nod, I pulled the door open as she stepped inside, then followed directly behind her.

Overhead, the lights automatically flicked on, blinding me, as their brightness spread an eerie blue cast over a metal table in the center of the room. Goosebumps pricked my arm with a chill. The temperature had drastically dropped. To the left of the table, a new loading bay door took up half the wall. A sink sat off in the corner. Trays of instruments lined its counter. Just beyond the metal table, another steel door led deeper inside, this one with a special latch handle to help keep it sealed tight. I'd worked at enough restaurants in the past to recognize it as a cooler door.

"This is the procurement room," Desirae said quietly, still keeping her gun aimed low, but ready. "Watch your step."

On the floor, puddles of what I could only assume were body fluids and grime pooled near a central drain below the table. As we reached the door, we took up our positions again. She nodded and I pulled.

Desirae's shoulders eased upon entry. The cooler was half the size of the procurement room, lined with shelves and totes. Along the back wall, built-in fans spun to circulate the air, creating the hum. Strings of numbers labeled the shelves. I leaned in closer to read one, but my eyes instead went to the lavender gray flesh of a male face, vacuum sealed on top of other bags of the same. Bags of feet. Hands. Spinal cords attached to shoulders. Full torsos. Heads. My stomach flopped as I jolted back, clasping Desirae's arm.

"Are you okay?"

"Are you?" I countered, watching her scan the shelves like it was just a pantry and she was in the mood for a snack.

"I've honestly seen worse."

"Worse?" My throat tightened at the thought. "I don't know what I was expecting, but this..." I had to turn away towards the door.

"They seem to be arranged by dates." Desirae aimed the muzzle of the gun down and held out the grip towards me. "Take the gun."

"What? No-"

"Take the gun or go through the bags."

I didn't even try to hide the cringing pout on my face. I may have even whined. Despite the number of times I've held a loaded gun, the weight of one still always surprised me. I delicately took it from her, wrapping both hands around the grip.

"Don't put your finger on the trigger un-"

"Unless you're gonna shoot. Yeah, I got it."

Desirae wasted no time flipping through the tags on the bags, but the gun grew heavier in my hands with every second. I stared at the door, fearing it would open and I'd have to act. But then the flap of plastic behind me quieted. Her movements slowed to a stop. I took a chance and turned back towards her. She held a bagged severed head in her hands, studying it closely.

"Is it your..."

"It's not."

"But he's marked with the right date?"

"He is."

A thud from above vibrated the shelves. My fingers tightened around the grip of the gun. Desirae hurried to return the severed head to the rack with the others and snatched the gun back from me. Not waiting for me to open the cooler door, she did so herself, moving into the procurement room without me, then out through to the warehouse.

I ran to catch up with her, stumbling head first into the pitch black of the warehouse. Disoriented by the new walls, I tried to make my way back through to the stairwell, but I was ass-backwards. The soft clip of Desirae's feet on the stairs helped direct me past the tools and barrels strewn about. My hands found the railing in the dark just as my eyes finally began to adjust. Looking straight up, I caught the flutter of Desirae's dress waiting on the landing of the second floor.

"Des," I called out quietly as I climbed closer.

"Kirby, stay there."

"No way," I uttered, continuing to climb. "I'm not letting you go in there alone."

Through the narrow window in the door, I could see the studio hadn't changed much over the years. A couple easels leaned off to the side in a corner. Prop furniture pushed beneath the window. Stacks of stretched canvases leaned against the wall. The stage still sat in the center of the room, dimly lit with draped fabrics.

And fresh flowers.

Movement along the shadowed floor stole my attention. A head of silvery blonde hair lifted.

Gripping the door handle, I went to tug it open, but Desirae caught my wrist. "Wait."

"She's alive," I pleaded. "This isn't like Miles earlier."

As much as I hated Cora, she was one of the few strings I had still tied to the past. If she was gone, and Rafael was the reason for all of this, I'd be the only one left to remember any of us.

"Take my purse," Desirae commanded. "You stay out here. If any of this goes south, you run. Call Greg as soon as you get service, you got that?"

Reluctantly, I slung it over my shoulder and Desirae raised her gun to a more readied position near her chest. She watched through the window a few seconds more before giving me the nod. Opening the door, I stepped back on the rusty platform and she went through alone. But instead of letting the door close, I kicked a loose clay brick over and wedged it in the doorway. I needed to be able to hear her at least.

Keeping low to the floor, Desirae crouched at Cora's side. Her words were whispers, but I heard the murmurs of reassurance as she holstered her gun and helped turn Cora onto her back. Relief ran through me with a shiver. I slid past the door, inside the studio and continued to wait in the shadows. Cora's eyes were wide, her mind likely buried in a deep k-hole if ketamine was what Rafael had given her. It still didn't feel right accusing him of this, but I didn't know what to think anymore.

Still rigid, Cora began shaking her head no. I inched closer to try to hear what she was mumbling. Her finger tapped hard on the floor. "Here."

"Yeah, we're gonna get you out of here, Cora," Desirae assured her again.

Cora's lips struggled to move. Trembling, she tried again. "S-s-still. Here. He's..."

As Desirae looked up at me, I wasn't sure what came first. Her yelling for me or the creak in the stairwell. But before I could turn around, a hand caught hold of my hair, dragging me farther into the studio.