Ava’s POV:
The door locks with a sound that settles into my bones.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just final.
I stand there long after the footsteps fade, staring at the wood grain like it might change if I watch long enough. It doesn’t. The room remains exactly as it is. Carefully designed. Carefully neutral. Nothing sharp. Nothing personal. Nothing accidental.
They didn’t forget comfort, they weaponized it.
I move slowly, testing the space. The bed is too neatly made. The chair is positioned to face the window, not the door. The mirror above the dresser is angled slightly downward. Not flattering. Inspecting.
I press my palm to the window.
It does not open.
The glass is thick. Reinforced. The kind used in executive offices and quiet institutions. It reflects my face back at me faintly,
