Thousand: Six Hundred Sixty-Eight

at the table to check her progress. She’s already past it? Didn’t she? Wasn’t there? She marches over, grabs a chair, takes it back to where she left off, then takes a good look around. The passage closed. Silently, of course. Leaving no evidence it ever existed. So now she’s trapped in this big dusty meeting room. Somebody was going to have a party here. There are paper bags under one of the other tables. Maybe full of packages of chips, moldy dip, salsa past its freshness date? The party hosts dropped everything off then got lost in cheap hell