Chapter 1
At 3:07 in the morning, Olive was jolted awake by an ice-cold hand gripping her wrist.
The hand was small but used all its strength.
Nails dug into her skin.
It hurt.
She blinked.
The room was pitch black.
The curtains weren't fully drawn, but no light came in from outside.
Not even the glow of the streetlights.
Her first thought was that Hazel had a nightmare.
"What's wrong?"
She started.
But her daughter clamped a hand over her mouth.
Hazel's palm was sweaty.
Her face was close.
Her voice shook.
"Mom, don't turn on the light. Don't make a sound."
Olive's drowsiness vanished.
She reached for the bedside lamp.
Hazel stopped her.
Her grip was too strong for a thirteen-year-old.
"Don't touch it."
The room was silent except for their breathing.
The AC had stopped.
The fridge was quiet.
Even the router's lights were off.
Olive realized the power was out.
"Is it a tripped breaker?" she asked.
Hazel shook her head.
Her hair stuck to her cheeks.
Her eyes were wide, fixed on the bedroom door.
No light under the door.
The living room was dark too.
Olive lowered her voice.
"Let me check the fuse box."
Hazel's face went pale.
She grabbed her mother's shirt.
"We can't go out. There's someone out there."
Olive's heart tightened.
She sat up slowly, saying nothing.
The building had thin walls.
Usually you could hear water running upstairs, a kid crying next door, the elevator moving.
But tonight it was dead quiet.
Like the whole building was underwater.
She listened.
Nothing.
No footsteps.
No voices.
No doors.
No complaints about the blackout.
The entire seventeenth floor felt empty.
"What did you hear?"
Olive asked. Hazel stared at the door.
"It's not about hearing. Mom, don't ask. Grab your ID, your phone, some cash. NOW."
Olive looked at her daughter's trembling lips and pushed aside her doubts.
Hazel was usually brave.
Last time a drunk banged on the door downstairs, she called the cops and slid the chain lock.
She wouldn't act like this for nothing.
Olive didn't turn on the light.
She fumbled for her documents.
Her phone had 62% battery.
She grabbed a power bank.
Hazel was already dressed.
No slippers—sneakers, laces untied.
Olive found her shoes: one slipper, one sandal.
She tried to switch, but Hazel pulled her.
"No time. We go now. Take the stairs."
Olive glanced at the door.
It was shut tight.
No sound outside. But suddenly she felt something standing behind it.
Hazel pressed her ear to the door.
A few seconds later, she took a sharp breath.
"Mom, put your phone on silent."
Olive did. Hazel stood on tiptoe and turned the lock.
The soft click echoed in the dark.
The door opened a crack.
The hallway was dark too. No emergency lights. No green exit signs.
The corridor stretched into nothing. Olive's throat tightened.
"This isn't right."
Hazel didn't look back.
She pulled Olive along the wall toward the fire exit.
The fire door on the seventeenth floor was half-open.
A draft of cold air came through.
Olive remembered it was always shut. Hazel paused.
She took a coin from her bag and tossed it down the stairwell. It hit the ground and rolled.
No echo. No movement. Then she pulled Olive inside.
The stairwell was even darker.
Olive kept one hand on the wall, the other held by her daughter.
Her sandal kept slipping.
Seventeenth floor. Sixteenth. Fifteenth.
Each step down, Olive felt someone behind her.
But she didn't dare look back.
Hazel walked fast.
She didn't count steps, but she knew every turn.
At the twelfth floor, a soft noise came from below, metal hitting a railing.
Olive froze. Hazel pulled her onto the landing, covering her mouth.
They pressed against the wall, barely breathing.
From below, someone was coming up.
Light steps. One step. Pause. Another.
Not a resident fleeing.
Someone searching.
Olive began to sweat. Hazel leaned to her ear.
"Don't move, Mom."
The steps stopped between the thirteenth and twelfth floors.
In the dark, a man cleared his throat.
Then a voice:
"The unit on seventeen—its door is open."