The first morning was the hardest.
Stefan woke at six, when Constantinople jumped up on the bed and started meowing—loudly—to be fed. And from six until eight, he was too preoccupied with the fear that the belt wouldn’t work to really notice anything else.
But it did work.
At eight o’clock exactly, the lock released, and he dropped it in the bathroom to use the toilet and wash. He slid it back into place at twenty-two minutes past, and lay perfectly still on the bed for the next eight minutes until it tightened, like a strange blood pressure cuff, and the lock beeped twice.
He tested it, and bit his lip when he found that there was no way he would be able to remove it, short of bolt cutters or a welding torch.
And then—only then, with the uncertainty removed—did the silence of the hou
