The pavement beneath Andy was cool, but the surface at his back had already started to warm in the raw morning light. The division of temperatures across his body was as sharp as the building shadow crossing him. He hadn’t been sitting, propped against the concrete wall, for long. That much he remembered, even if he didn’t remember how he’d gotten here—wherever here was. There was a buzz in his head, rattling his nerves. The sun had hurt his eyes in his first, brief attempt to orient himself, and he hadn’t seen anything useful before shutting them again. He wasn’t quite ready to try again. He could smell that this wasn’t a nice place, and the restive skitterings he could hear told him it wasn’t the sort of place where he should spend much time. He ought to get his muzzy thoughts together and get on with things.