The sound of a tiny bell makes her jump, even though it’s behind her. Amina has opened the cash register. Setting down the three-hole punch, she grabs a pair of long socks from a nearby display, pulls one free, and begins filling it with fistfuls of coins. Miranda doesn’t understand, but then Amina raises the filled sock and swings it through the air at head level. Miranda imagines how satisfying it would feel to hit one of the killers, to break his jaw, smash his nose, crush his cheek.

“Can you make me one?” she whispers to Amina before turning back to the door. She puts her phone in video mode, then holds her breath and eases the door open just far enough to slide out the phone taped to the ruler. She tries to move it in different angles as well as up and down, and then she slips it back in, flips it so that it’s facing the other side, and sticks it out again. Even though she hears nothing, it’s a relief to bring the phone inside and close the door.

Everyone crowds around as she plays back the silent video. It’s oddly comforting to be surrounded by the warmth and smells of the others.

The body Amina saw is still there, but there’s no sign of anyone else. It’s just an empty corridor with scuffed ivory-colored walls, interspersed with plain brown doors. As Amina said, it dead-ends to their right. On their left, it stretches on farther than the phone can see.

“It looks safe,” Grace finally says.

“What if we realize it’s a mistake and need to get back in?” Miranda starts to undo the tape. “That door will lock behind us.”

“I’ve got a key.” Amina pats her pocket.

“But what if we get split up?” Javier says.

“We could put something inside to keep the lock from clicking in,” Miranda says. “Like gum.”

“That’s too squishy.” Cole has been toying with a cap from near the register and now tries it on. “Maybe paper.”

“But if we do that,” Amina points out, “anyone could come in.”

Grace shrugs one shoulder. “Who’s going to try? Anyone back there must know how these doors work. They won’t expect to find one unlocked.”

Finally, Cole pulls the door open an inch, just far enough so that he can stuff the hole where the lock would normally click into place. He uses the folded-up tag from the hat. Then, one by one, they slip outside, with Cole in the lead and Javier in the rear. They keep in a tight line, each with their weapon.

The weight of her coin-filled sock feels good in Miranda’s hand. She thinks of the SWAT team. She’s seen photos of men in camouflage lined up like they are now. What if there’s a booby trap out here, too?