Before I get down to crawl, Quincy tugs me closer to him. Our foreheads touch. Our lips close for the first time since Herron Media, where our kiss was for cover, not the real thing.

“Be careful,” Quincy says.

I give a shy grin and nod.

I use the flashlight on my phone as a light. I crouch down, eyeing the gap, not looking forward to shoving myself through. I scratch my neck as I try to catch my breath. I look to Quincy, then take another breath. Quincy lifts the bottom of the conveyer and moves it a few inches out. It makes a difference. I crawl on my hands and knees, scooting myself slowly along the ground.

Even though Quincy’s here, he can’t help me if I truly get stuck in the machine. Each breath is a struggle as the space becomes more and more restricted. No clear way out except behind me. Panic rises in me when I realize I probably can’t turn around.

I can hear my heart pounding. My skin goes clammy. Small lights dance across my vision.

How can I move forward?

“You okay?” Quincy calls out. “You’re quiet.”

His voice snaps me back. I have to get control. I take another deep breath. “I will be when this is done.”

Sweat drips from my forehead, and I scan the floor with my flashlight. Inch my way closer. Then I see the marks of dust wiped away when someone did the same.

“She came from under here,” I yell. “There’s a bigger gap farther along. It looks like it opens up…I think I can fit.”

I scooch in like I’m crab walking. My arms are exhausted from dragging myself through the narrowest, most difficult part. Sweat and dust blending together, my eyes start to burn. But I don’t stop. I can feel that it’s getting easier the farther I go.

I swing my light around and see wooden panels that are busted, possible openings. Then glide my body over and feel along the wall.

“What do you see?” Quincy asks.

My voice quivers. Chest squeezing tighter, freaking out because I’m so deep below the conveyer I’d be cornered if we’re caught. But I keep reaching, going farther. I feel something, then stretch my fingers until I have a good hold to pull it to me.

My eyes well because I’m touching something of Angela’s.

“Angela’s interview bag,” I say. “She’d keep her phone, notepads, and pens in there for quick write-ups on the go.”

“Her phone must’ve fell out,” Quincy says.

I rest my head against the wall and feel cold metal instead.

“I think I found something,” I say. “Can you get through?”