As she reached the walk-in fridge, Tonya realized that such caution wasn’t necessary. No cooks chopped atop butcher blocks or brought ingredients to and from the pantry. The hustle and bustle that Tonya was accustomed to wasn’t simply subdued; it was nonexistent.

The atmosphere recalled a horror movie set. At any point, it seemed a knife-wielding lunatic would leap from behind some stainless-steel cabinet. None of her colleagues would be there to save her.

“Hello?” Tonya called out as she headed toward the main dining room. She pulled the mask covering her face onto her chin, allowing her voice to carry. “Hello?”

A soft thud responded, like the closing of a cabinet. It was followed by a tense silence, the kind in which the body can sense another presence but not see or hear it. Was someone quietly breaking in? Burglaries were more frequent now that many of the city stores and eateries had been boarded up.

Instinct urged Tonya to run back through the kitchen and dive into the alley. But need pushed her forward. There was no bag of money in the dumpster outside. No way to pay her rent or feed her child while Kelner took his time working out a new child support arrangement.

“Hello?” she repeated.

Heavy footsteps answered, the kind made by a man striding toward a target. Tonya clenched her fists and stood her ground near the repurposed security grates. She heard a clatter followed by the sound of things being moved around.

“Who’s there?” she yelled.

“Hello?” Her question echoed in a male baritone that Tonya was almost sure she recognized.

She walked forward to find Philip at the dining room bar. A plate sat in front of him, covered by a napkin. He poured a fancy whiskey into a shot glass. Hard alcohol before noon was never a good sign, but it could be excused with the presence of food and a splash of juice. Who didn’t enjoy a Bloody Mary with brunch? The mixers were right there on the back bar. Everything Philip needed to turn a shot into a cocktail.

Philip downed the drink without additions. Tonya took a tentative step closer. As she did, she could appreciate the gray undertone of Philip’s ivory complexion. He seemed more wan than usual, as if he’d suffered several sleepless nights. Tonya assumed her own face reflected similar exhaustion.

“Tonya. What are you doing here?” Philip asked, as if he’d caught her stealing. He rubbed a hand over his bare face. “Your shift isn’t for three hours.”

“I was hoping to speak with you, actually.”

“Oh.” Philip pulled out one of the bar stools. He gestured to it and stepped back, giving her a six-foot berth. He slid his shot glass down several feet to his new post.