The stairwell door had barely closed behind them when Kai muttered, "Twelve down. However many left to go."
"Don't count," Erik said. "It doesn't help."
They moved back onto the twelfth floor landing — the one they'd started on, the one Penelope realized they hadn't actually finished clearing before the stairwell had forced their hand. A door down the corridor stood ajar, light spilling out into the hallway in a thin yellow line.
Killian noticed it first. He didn't slow down, just angled toward it, one hand raised to keep the others behind him.
Inside, a man crouched near an overturned bookshelf, gripping a fireplace poker in both hands like it might suddenly explain itself to him. He flinched hard when the door creaked wider.
"Don't—" he started.
"We're not infected," Erik said flatly, stepping into the doorway just enough to be seen. "Neither are you, from the look of it."
