He had been so supportive, so public with his concern.

Now, his meticulous spreadsheet detailed the daily survival of someone kept in our own home.

I scrolled through the columns, my fingers trembling on the trackpad.

The details were clinical.

*Liquid Intake: 1.2 Liters.*

*Solid Mass: 400g (pureed).*

*Sedative Dosage: 10mg (liquid diazepam).*

*Waste Extraction: Completed.*

This was not a utility log for the house.

It was a maintenance record for a human being.

I felt a sudden, violent wave of nausea rise in my throat.

I clamped my hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp.

I needed to find out where she was.

I minimized the spreadsheet and opened the directory labeled *HVAC Sub-Level*.

A folder containing architectural drawings appeared.

These were the blueprints Julian had submitted to the city planning office for our basement remodel.

But there was a second set of files in the folder, labeled *Final_Actual*.

I clicked the file open.

The blueprint showed the layout of our modern suburban home.

Most of the house was built on a standard concrete slab, but the section beneath our kitchen was different.