Panic hit me harder than the cold.
I threw both arms into the air until the sensor detected movement and the lights returned.
That was when I noticed blood on my palm.
The metal buckle from my shoe had cut through my skin while I removed the maintenance plate.
The wound looked dark and distant, almost as if it belonged to someone else.
I pressed my hand against the thermal liner and kept moving.
The intercom crackled.
Quentin’s voice returned.
“You found the maintenance panel.”
I looked toward the camera.
It still appeared dead, but he had seen enough before disabling the feed.
“Did the switch frighten you?” I asked.
My voice sounded weak.
I hated that he could hear it, so I forced myself to stand straighter.
Quentin laughed, but this time the sound was too quick.
“That circuit hasn’t worked in years.”
He was lying.
I knew his lies now.
The words came too fast, and he added details before I asked for them.
“You’re sure?”
“I disconnected the main alarm two days ago.”
The moment he said it, silence followed.
He had revealed more than he intended.
I stared at the intercom speaker.
“You disconnected it?”
“I mean the system was already unreliable.”
“No,” I said.
“You said you disconnected it.”
The speaker clicked off.
Three buildings away, Gabriel heard every word through the remote archive.
The independent system had restored the intercom audio automatically when I pressed the hidden switch.
Quentin did not know that.
He believed he was speaking through the local network he controlled.
Gabriel was already crossing the parking lot when the recording reached his phone.
Security vehicles moved ahead of him without sirens.
Paramedics entered through the eastern gate.
Gabriel ordered everyone to keep the corridor quiet until they reached the freezer.
He wanted Quentin caught before Quentin understood that his plan had failed.
Quentin, however, had begun to suspect something.
He returned to the building through a side entrance.
A hallway camera recorded him carrying the same tool case, now accompanied by a folded maintenance jacket and a clipboard.
His plan was simple.
He would wait until I stopped moving, restore the emergency handle, and claim he had discovered me during an early inspection.
The disabled alarm would become a mechanical defect.
The missing security footage would become a network malfunction.
He would play the grieving husband.
He had practiced that role too.
When Quentin reached the cold-storage corridor, he stopped.
The small status light beside the freezer door had changed from red to green.
Someone had accessed the owner’s circuit.
He set down the tool case and opened the exterior control panel.
His hands moved quickly across the wires.
Inside, the fans suddenly stopped.
For one beautiful second, the freezer became quiet.
Then the lights went out.
I screamed Quentin’s name and struck the door.
