I weave my way through the streets; evenings are fairly quiet, as storefronts close early. When I reach the store before Herron Media, I zip a right to walk down the alley.

I turn the corner, and a low whistle rings. I almost take off running when I see someone by the back door. Then I realize it’s Quincy, in all black. He lifts up his hood, whistling “The Farmer in the Dell” like Omar from The Wire.

“Seriously,” I whisper.

“I didn’t want to shout your name.”

“You scared me. And look at you. It’s hot as hell out here still.”

“I’m not doing jail time because I got caught.”

I huff. “Do you have a way into this place or what?”

“This is your show. How were you planning on getting in if I couldn’t swipe keys?”

I shrug. “I hadn’t thought that through yet.”

“No plan whatsoever, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Come on.” Quincy waves me over.

We walk farther, around the back of Herron Media. We’re now shielded between two fences and the next building that’s farthest away from the employee entrance. It looks like the loading area for deliveries.

I sweep my eyes to the top of the building, looking for a camera. Seeing none, I tap Quincy to let him know I think we’re good.

Quincy takes out a ring of keys, messes with a few until he finds the one that fits the service door.

“Have you done this before?” I whisper.

Quincy doesn’t answer, then takes my hand, and I follow him into the building. I take in quiet, measured breaths, so I don’t miss a sound in case we’re not alone. I take slow steps as he guides me near the wall. He points to the only location of a camera that could catch a sliver of us if we’re not careful. I lean my back against the wall, our fingers touching as we extend them out, scooting until we turn the corner.

Although we’re out of view from the camera, we don’t speak. Just fumble our way through hallways, passing closed offices. Quincy said we gotta watch out for one or two people that stay late.

The only thing we see in the hallways are the blink of small red and green lights above when we pass smoke detectors. We reach the front of the building where the glass windows are near the reception desk, then turn the corner to slowly climb up the stairs.

Upstairs is quiet. I take the lead now that I know where we’re going. Quincy hangs back, looking out to see if anyone’s in the hallway.

I pull down on the door handle to the main media room that Jamal used—the last place I saw Angela and Jamal together. It’s unlocked, so I wave Quincy over.

“Where do we start?” Quincy asks, shutting the door behind him.