He looked at the envelope, then at me, then past both of us to the elevators.

“Go on,” I said.

“Tell her what you told me by the sink.”

He walked toward the parking garage, and the corridor lights picked out the water stain on the ceiling above him.

Elena Vance came around the corner of the alcove holding a thermos in both hands, her handkerchief folded small under one thumb.

I moved my duffel bag off the vinyl bench to make room.

“I didn’t know if anyone was feeding you,” she said, and sat down close, closer than anyone had come to me in nine days, and unscrewed the cap.