The stairwell smelled of concrete dust, old cigarette smoke, and something chemical underneath it all that hadn't fully cleared out even after however long the hotel had been under Callighan's control.
Our footsteps were fast and quiet on the bare steps, each one placed carefully to avoid the scrape of grit underfoot, and the only light came from the cracks under the fire doors on each landing, thin pale lines that told us there were people on the other side still burning whatever fuel they had for lanterns and battery lights.
Outside, through the thick walls, the fight was already spreading.
