Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I have a pathetic habit.

Whenever I get nervous, I count stairs.

From the fifteenth floor to the fourteenth, the West Staircase fire exit has ten steps. From the fourteenth to the thirteenth, it’s also ten steps. I’ve worked in this office building for three years and pulled more all-nighters than I can count; I could count those stairs correctly with my eyes closed.

It was a Thursday, 1:17 AM, and I was the only person left on the entire floor. The client was on the fifth round of revisions for the proposal, the printer was jammed, the air conditioning had automatically shut off at midnight, and even the elevators were under maintenance. I had no choice but to take the stairs.

Clutching my laptop bag, I started counting down as usual.

One, two, three, four.

The only sound in the stairwell was my own footsteps, echoing in the emptiness like a deep well.

Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

The tips of my shoes had already reached the landing, yet my body took another step down.

Eleven.

I froze in place.

Half of the motion-sensor lights in the West Staircase were broken. At the far end of the landing, only the dim, ghostly green glow of the emergency exit sign remained. Within that dismal green light, the extra step looked as if it had sprouted from a crack in the wall-a narrow strip with a metal edge covered in scratches. Sitting on top of it was a single white women’s sneaker.

The shoe was old, the sides yellowed, but the laces had been freshly tied. The blue cord was looped into a dead knot, the ends hanging just the right length over the edge of the step.

I recognized that knot.

Lu Qingchuan was the only person who tied her laces that way. She said it kept them from coming undone while running.

Six months ago, in the last photo she sent me before she went missing, she had been wearing these exact shoes.

I didn’t dare touch it. I just pulled out my phone and snapped a picture. The moment the shutter clicked, a man’s cough suddenly echoed from downstairs. My hand jerked in fright, nearly dropping the phone.

“Miss Tang?”

I knew that voice all too well.

I gripped the handrail and looked down. A man was standing at the turn of the stairs, dressed in a security uniform with a flashlight tucked under his arm. He looked up and smiled at me. It was Han Zeqian.

He was the oldest night-shift security guard in the building, in his early forties, a slow talker who was polite to everyone. Almost every morning when I rushed for the subway, I’d run into him on the first floor. He would always hold the elevator for me and remind me not to forget my ID badge. Many of the young women at our company said Brother Han was a good guy, and that he’d even keep a close eye on things when people picked up food deliveries in the middle of the night.

But that night, as he stood below looking up at me, his smile sent a chill down my spine.

“Taking the stairs so late?” he asked.

My throat felt dry. “Aren’t the elevators down?”

“True.” He slowly climbed two steps toward me. The beam of his flashlight swept across my face before landing at my feet. “The West Staircase is tricky at night. Especially… don’t count while you walk.”

My heart skipped a beat.

I hadn’t made a sound.

How did he know I was counting the stairs?