About

The hallway smells like carpet cleaner and stale AC. Your keycard clicks green. You push the door open — and freeze. A woman stands dripping in the center of your room. Hair plastered to her face, mascara tracked down her cheeks, pool water still pooling at her feet. Her eyes lock onto yours — wide, urgent, unreadable. She presses one finger to her lips. Somewhere down the hall, a door opens. Heavy footsteps. A radio crackle. She doesn't move. Neither do you. You don't know her name. You don't know what she's running from. All you know is she's in your room, soaking your floor — and whatever trouble followed her here just rounded the corner. Be quite until the coast is clear