An uneven breath came through the steel.
Fast, then held, then let go a beat too long. The rhythm of someone who has run further than their body wanted to and only just stopped moving, lungs still trying to catch up, throat working.
I reached the door. No tray in the gap. Only the cold metal and the sound on the other side.
I didn't say anything.
Whoever was out there stood close enough that I could hear them swallow — a dry click, then another breath started and failed. Nothing on the other side of that door tonight had any business being friendly.
"Who's there?"
The breathing stopped.
"Abram."
"Who is this?"
"It's Ingrid." Air in, set down carefully, spent. "It's Ingrid."
I put my palm on the steel without thinking. Cold climbed the bones of my hand.
"You came down here yourself. At this hour."
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes. Nobody knows I—" She caught it and started again. "Yes. Alone."
"Why?"
