Chapter 21. It Was a Mistake

The elevator’s hum was a low, resonant drone as it glided downward, the cramped metal cabin barely wider than a hallway. Above the sliding doors, the small panel flickered in a weary dance of red numerals, each floor ticking away with a reluctant buzz. Alyssa stood rooted in the corner, her back pressed lightly against the cool steel. One hand gripped the strap of her bag so tightly that her knuckles blanched; the other hovered near her phone, though its screen lay dark and unresponsive.

The stale, recycled air smelled faintly of old carpet and cleaning solvents, a reminder that she’d chosen this after-hours hour precisely for its silence. The building’s usual bustle—a symphony of conversations, footsteps, muffled laughter—had evaporated, leaving only echoes of emptiness. She’d told herself this was a clean break, a final act of closure for both him and herself: the last retrieval of her things, a gesture intended to announce, once and for all, that she was gone.

The el