Had the young woman been able to hear Phoebe, maybe she would've replied in the midst of her sprint. But she was gone just as quick as she had came, and eventually she was at the sixth floor.
She remembered his room, but regardless- even if she hadn't, the bright yellow police tape was a sign enough. She crossed under it, rolling slightly, until the stench finally hit her. She gagged, but bent down towards the duffel bag, shuffling through it. Bullets, bullets... more bullets. Only useful if she had a gun. She looked around, eyes darting, until they caught on the shine of silver by Santiago's hand, partially under the desk.
Found the gun.
She quickly grabbed it, hands trembling, as she struggled to cram bullets into it. She wasn't good with a gun, persay, but her father was very into anything that could kill a piece of game, so she wasn't bad.
And then she sprinted back down.