It was locked.

I looked down the corridor and saw a larger door at the very end, secured with a digital keypad and a steel deadbolt.

A small red light on the keypad blinked in the dim light of the hallway.

I heard a soft, scraping sound from the other side of that door.

It sounded like a shoe dragging across a metal floor.

I took a step closer, my eyes fixed on the blinking red light.

Suddenly, the door behind me clicked open.

I spun around, raising my weapon.

The guard I had seen earlier was standing in the doorway of a small utility locker, holding a stack of fresh white towels.

His eyes went wide when he saw the barrel of my gun pointed at his chest.

“Don’t make a sound,” I said.

He froze, the towels slipping slightly in his grip.

“Drop the towels,” I whispered.

He let them fall to the carpeted floor.

“Turn around,” I said.

He turned slowly, putting his hands on his head.

I stepped forward and pressed the barrel of the gun against the back of his neck.