The next night, it was the same: same man, same girl. On the third night, Angela felt a sense of unease that didn’t go away even after she went home. The girl looked increasingly depressed, and the man increasingly irritated. He was squeezing her shoulder too tightly.

On the sixth night, she made up her mind: leaving through the back entrance, she walked around the outside of the building and peered into the window of room 112. The curtain wasn’t completely closed. Only silhouettes were visible through the narrow gap… but those silhouettes were enough to make her knees buckle.

She saw the silhouette of a man leaning over a girl. The girl was sitting on the bed, her shoulders shaking. Angela stepped back from the window, her heart pounding. Everything looked… wrong.