At the end of the passage, voices drifted through a metal door.
A man’s voice.
Low.
Controlled.
Then another voice answered.
Mark.
I moved toward it.
Ana caught my wrist.
“Not yet.”
“He’s in there.”
“If you open that door, they will know I helped you.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
Her grip tightened.
“My brother disappeared in this hotel 11 months ago.”
I looked at her.
“He worked night security,” she continued. “He found the cameras. Three days later, the hotel said he stole money and ran away.”
“Did he?”
