Beside him stood a girl, about eleven years old — thin, fair-haired, carrying a black backpack. At first glance, they looked like father and daughter.

The girl didn’t say a word. She only stared at the floor. The man signed the register and asked for room 112 for one night. He asked that no one enter for cleaning and… that the curtains not be closed.

The next night everything repeated: the same man, the same girl. On the third night, Angela felt a growing sense of unease that didn’t leave her even after she went home. The girl looked more and more downcast, and the man more irritable. He held her shoulder far too tightly.