I crossed to the door. Venna got up and came around to lean against the counter, watching me. The heat in the reception made every movement feel slower than it was.
"Careful," she said. "We don't know if that connects to the outside."
"It doesn't." I was already sure. Nobody hides a door that carefully if it leads to a street. The seam in the paint was too deliberate, too clean.
I pushed it inward. A refrigerator.
White, tall, a heavy glass front, standing alone in a small stone room that had been built to hold exactly that and nothing else. The air inside the little room was noticeably cooler, a sudden pocket of relief against the heat of the rest of the building. The glass reflected the pale morning light in a single hard sheet.
