Jonas waited until nightfall.
Mara had gone to bed early at least, she said she had. Her door clicked shut around 9:30pm, and he gave it an hour before moving.
He replayed her evening movements in his head: a half-glass of wine, dishes wiped clean with mechanical perfection, a final glance at him as he fake-yawned his way down the hall. Her eyes had lingered just long enough.
She was watching. Always.
But tonight, Jonas would watch back.
The house creaked beneath him as he moved barefoot across the floor. Every sound felt exaggerated, like the wood was screaming he's awake, he's awake.
He paused outside her bedroom door. Silence.
He moved on.
The kitchen was dark, but the hallway just past the pantry caught his attention. Something was off. The floorboard there looked newer like replaced. He crouched, pressing lightly on it.
It gave a subtle click.
A panel shifted in the wall. Not much. Just enough.
A hidden door.
Jonas's pulse quickened. He slid his fingers into the gap and pulled. The panel resisted, then groaned open with a whispering sigh.
Behind it, a narrow stairwell. Unlit. The air smelled of dust and rust.
The basement.
He looked over his shoulder once more, then stepped inside, pulling the panel shut behind him. The darkness swallowed him whole.
Each step downward creaked beneath his weight. The walls were tight, unfinished. His breath echoed faintly, like the house was listening.
Halfway down, a bulb flickered on overhead motion-sensor. Weak yellow light spilled across cracked concrete.
At the bottom was a steel door. No handle. Just a keypad.
Jonas froze.
No clues. No numbers. Just a blinking cursor and a silent challenge.
He stepped back, frustrated. He was about to retreat when he noticed the edge of a doormat sticking out from under a shelf to his right. Strange place for one.
He lifted it.
Beneath it, etched crudely into the concrete floor: 0401.
A code?
He turned back to the pad and typed it in.
Beep.
Click.
The door opened.
And beyond it was a room painted entirely in blue. Pale sky-blue walls. A single chair in the center. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The floor was white tile, sterile.
He stepped inside slowly, heart pounding.
On the far wall, a camera pointed at the chair.
A two-way mirror spanned the left wall. His reflection stared back at him, wide-eyed and unsure.
He moved to the chair, touching its cold metal armrest. The leather was worn. Someone had spent a lot of time sitting here.
Then he saw the folders stacked neatly in the corner.
Each was labeled with a name.
REED, JONAS was at the top.
He opened it.
Inside were pages / medical forms, scans of his brain, session logs. Dates. Times. Observations.
Subject exhibits growing signs of disassociation from caretaker.
Memory resets remain consistent. Behavioral anomalies persist.
Subject attempted escape protocol on Day 113. Failed.
Jonas staggered back from the folder, as if it had burned him.
Subject.
Caretaker.
This wasn't a home.
It was a lab.
And he was the experiment.
He flipped further through the file and found photos of him strapped to the chair. Eyes wide. Mouth open, mid-scream. Another shot: Mara standing over him, unreadable.
Something shifted behind him.
He turned quickly, folder in hand.
Footsteps.
Coming down the stairs.
He backed into the corner, breath ragged. No weapons. No exit.
The door creaked open again.
And Mara stood there, wrapped in her robe.
Expression calm.
Eyes cold.
"I told you not to come down here," she said.
Jonas didn't move. "What is this place?"
She looked at the folder in his hands. Then at the camera. Then back at him.
"You weren't supposed to remember that room."