I typed it in and pressed enter.

The screen unlocked.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I opened the file explorer.

I found a folder labeled *Utility Diagnostics*.

Inside was a spreadsheet titled with a date from three years ago.

The exact month he had finished the basement remodel.

I clicked it open.

Rows of meticulous data filled the screen.

It was not a utility log.

It was a daily record of nutritional intake.

*Date: October 14th.*
*Protein: 50g.*
*Sodium: 1500mg.*
*Calories: 1200.*
*Status: Stable.*

I scrolled down, the dates running continuously for three years.

The entry for today was marked *Incomplete*.

Beside it, a note read: *Subject uncooperative. Dosage adjusted.*

A floorboard creaked in the hallway directly behind me.

I pressed my back against the mahogany desk and held my breath.

The silence in the house grew deafening.

My eyes strained against the darkness of the hallway, watching the narrow gap beneath the office door.

A shadow broke the thin line of light from the staircase.

It lingered there for three agonizing seconds.

I clutched my own wrists to keep my hands from shaking against my thighs.