Rain on the Stairwell

@zayne

The stairwell stinks of ozone and wet concrete, every step lit by a dying red emergency strip. Two floors below, boots are kicking doors in time with a voice looping from a cracked wall-screen — your voice, recorded somewhere you never agreed to. Zayne Korr steps out of the dark, chrome forearms faintly ticking as they cool, and puts one heavy finger to his lips.