The label had no pharmacy name, only a series of numbers and a chemical compound I didn’t recognize.

I opened the first paper folder.

It was a medical file.

The name at the top of the page was Eleanor Vance.

I began to read, my eyes scanning the typed lines.

Then, I heard a floorboard creak in the hallway behind me.

I froze, the paper rustling in my hand.

The shadow of a pair of shoes appeared in the gap beneath the guest room door.

I held my breath, my fingers tightening against the crisp edge of the paper.

The shadow did not move.

My heart hammered against my ribs, so loud I feared the person in the hall would hear it.

I waited for the doorknob to turn, but the shadow remained perfectly still.

Slowly, the dark shape shifted, moving away from the door frame toward the stairs.

The floorboards creaked once more, a fading sound that died near the landing.

I let out a long, shuddering breath and looked down at the folder in my lap.

The document was a clinical trial protocol printed on heavy, cream-colored paper.