<2/3>

Amelia giggled nervously. Someone must've called it from the upper floors, that's all. She glanced at the buttons and did a double take. Since when did the building have twenty floors?

As she was puzzling over the buttons, the elevator dinged to a stop. The doors parted, revealing a man in a tweed suit carrying a leather briefcase.

"Going up, ma'am?" he asked.

"Yeah," she murmured before her brain caught up with her eyes. Behind the man was an opulent lobby with marble columns and chandeliers, but before she could get a better look, he stepped in, and the doors closed with the same swiftness they had behind her.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes as the elevator resumed moving. Must be losing my mind. The gentleman who had boarded pulled out an honest-to-god pocket watch on a chain and checked the time. Sensing her gaze, he smiled and tipped his bowler hat to her.

She smiled back shakily. The elevator soon came to another stop, and the doors parted to an unfamiliar hallway stretching into the distance.

The man made to get off before exclaiming. "This isn't the Sunrise Hotel!"

"This isn't my apartment building either," Amelia said with trepidation.

The man whirled around and jabbed the top button, but the elevator didn't budge. Amelia tried the emergency call to no effect. They stared at each other.

"Amelia," she said, extending her hand.

The man clasped it. "Frank. Frank Walsted."

She eyed the hallway and swallowed. "For better or worse, this seems to be our stop. Shall we?"

"I suppose we must," he said, lifting his briefcase like a shield. "You better stay behind me, just in case."

Amelia usually had little patience for chivalry, but she was willing to make an exception. "Lead the way, Frank."