1428 Pacific Avenue was a narrow apartment building wedged between two taller structures, its facade weathered by decades of salt air and fog. The buzzer panel listed six units, and next to the one marked 3B, a single initial had been written in fading ink: E.
Aaron pressed the buzzer. A long pause. He pressed again. Still nothing.
"She's not here," Sophie said.
"Or she doesn't want to be found yet."
He stepped back and looked up at the building. The windows on the third floor were dark, the curtains drawn. Whatever E. had left behind, it was not going to be given to him in person.
He tried the buzzer one more time, holding it longer. The sound echoed inside, but no footsteps approached, no voice crackled through the speaker.
"The bank," he said. "Let's see what's in the box."
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