“Samuel.” Diane’s voice from behind Ray, sharp and cracked. “Samuel, stop —” He didn’t stop. The pleasantness was gone entirely, dropped like something he no longer needed to carry, and what replaced it was pure calculation — the door, the stairs, the exit. Ray was on his feet and moving before he’d made the conscious decision to move. Samuel ran.
Not the careful measured walk of a man who’d done this before — he ran, jacket in hand, taking the stairs two at a time, the sound of it echoing up the stairwell. Ray went after him, one hand on the railing, moving faster than a man his age had any business moving, the flash drive still in his pocket and forty years of showing up propelling him down every step.