I tested the window an hour after he left.

It didn’t open. The glass was thick, the frame sealed. Outside there was only a dark treeline and the faint glow of distant security lights. The door stayed locked. When I pressed my ear against it I heard nothing—no voices, no footsteps, no indication that the rest of the house even existed. Eventually I showered in the attached bathroom, scrubbing until my skin turned pink, then pulled on the soft black clothes that had been left in the closet. They fit too well. Someone had taken real measurements.

Sleep came in broken pieces.

I woke to the sound of the lock...