I climbed the wide exterior stairs, twenty shallow marble steps dusted with white, and pushed through the automatic glass doors.
Warm air enveloped me instantly—scented with pine from the massive lobby Christmas tree and the faint coffee drifting from the bar. Marble floors gleamed under soft chandelier light; a few guests moved quietly across the space, suitcases rolling behind them. The grand clock above the main elevators read 6:47 p.m.
I headed straight for the private elevator in the far corner—penthouse access only, tucked behind a velvet rope. As I approached, the doors slid open on their own.
Jasmine stepped out first, Nala right behind her. Jasmine wore a black wool coat over jeans, hands in her pockets; Nala had thrown on a long camel trench and looked like she hadn't slept properly in days—dark circles under her eyes, jaw tight.
"Oh, hey, girls," I said, stopping as they walked closer. "What are you guys doing?"
