I backed away from the door, my bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor.

My hand shook as I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.

I tapped the screen, turning the brightness down to the lowest setting.

I opened the voice recorder app and pressed the red button.

The small counter began to tick up in silence: one second, two seconds, three.

Inside the room, the dry scraping sound of wood against wood stopped.

“I have them,” Nathan whispered.

I heard the distinct, crisp rustle of old paper.

“Are they the originals?” Eleanor asked, her voice trembling.

“Yes,” Nathan said. “The hand-written dosage logs from the trial.”

I stood in the dark hallway, my back pressed against the cold drywall.

The digital smart-home panel on the wall opposite me glowed a pale, icy blue.

It controlled every lock, window, and security sensor in the house.

Nathan had programmed it so only his passcode or fingerprint could unlock the doors after ten at night.

I looked down at the recording icon on my phone, its small red wave pulsing.