VANYA'S POV
Vanya had expected worse.
Not better — worse. She'd descended two floors already, and each one had confirmed what she already knew about this world: chaos didn't organize itself. It should have gotten louder as they went down, not quieter. Yet floor sixteen had been silent. Floor fifteen, silent. Not the tense, listening silence of people hiding behind locked doors — an emptied silence, the kind that came after something had already happened and moved on.
She stopped at the landing between fourteen and thirteen, one hand raised.
Harold nearly walked into her back. "What?"
"Listen."
He did, crowbar held against his chest the way she'd taught him, breathing carefully through his mouth to keep it quiet. After a moment, his brow furrowed.
"I don't hear anything."
"Exactly."
"Isn't that good?"
"It depends on why."
