You run down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Near the bottom, your ankle rolls under you, and you feel a horrible twist of tendons. You grab the railing, breathing heavily, waiting for the throbbing to pass, and then limp down the last few steps.
The desk is empty.
“Gregory?” you call. His flashlight is on the marble floor, the beam illuminating the far wall. You run to it and pick it up.
“Gregory? Gregory, I need you.”
You turn the flashlight this way and that, but the moving illumination creates the only motion, and the only sounds your uneven footsteps and heavy breathing. You step back toward the wall, and your heel crunches down on something with a tiny pop. You remember the pistachio shells that were always flying from Gregory’s desk. You shine the beam onto the floor and lift your foot.
Gregory’s earpiece is shattered on the marble.
You limp back to your office as fast as you can.