From somewhere beyond the walls came a sound.
Growls. Moans.
I went still.
Where the hell am I?
I pulled on a long-sleeved henley that fell almost to my knees, and a pair of track pants I had to roll twice to keep from tripping over them.
But no gloves.
I felt exposed. Wrong. Like I was missing a layer of skin.
My shoes sat neatly beside the bed. I shoved my feet into them, skipping socks, then eased the door open.
The smell hit me first.
Clinical disinfectant. Bleach and cleaning chemicals. The sharp scent reminded me of a hospital.
The corridor was narrow and clean, leading toward what looked like a kitchen. As I moved down it, a door opened at the far end.
A teen stepped out—tall, all elbows and angles, maybe a few years younger than me. When he saw me, he froze.
“You’re awake,” he said.
Something growled behind him.
He shut the door.
I watched as he crossed to a sanitiser dispenser on the wall and scrubbed his hands, methodically.
Like he’d done it a hundred times.
“Where am I?” I asked.
He forced a smile. He had a gentle face, with kind grey eyes.
“My house,” he said. “My name is Andre. I found you on the road a few miles out on the highway on my way back from Telluride.” He glanced at my face. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”
Something thudded against the wall behind him.
Andre followed my gaze, then smiled—too quick, too rehearsed.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “My mum’s just been a little… sick lately. It’s better if we keep the door shut.”
“What’s wrong with her?” I asked before I could stop myself.
His smile faltered for half a second.
“She went to the hospital for a check-up,” he said. “She picked something up while she was there. That’s all.”
He swallowed hard. “We’re fine.”
He raised his voice. “Mia!”
The little girl from my room poked her head out of her room.
