“Breakfast," the maid said, setting the tray on a table near the window. Steam lifted from porridge and something citrus. The girl couldn't have been more than twenty. She kept her eyes on the tray the way people do when they've learned that eye contact turns into jobs they didn't apply for.
“What's your name?" Elena asked.
The girl hesitated. “Marta."
“Hi, Marta." Elena kept her voice gentle. “Could you… leave the door open?"
Marta darted a glance at the hall, then shook her head. “Mr. Hale said—"
“Of course he did." Elena smiled like she could soften a rule with politeness. It didn't work. “Thank you, Marta."
The door clicked shut. Locks hummed—a subtle mechanical purr Elena now heard even from three rooms away. She waited until footsteps faded, the elevator sighed, the house exhal
