As amusing as it would have been to allow him to struggle at length, she could see from her vantage point that the door wasn’t latched — a little struggle was good for him, but once it became clear he was about to do something drastic? Better to just open the door.

The farmhouse is well appointed. Dusty, but that’s probably to be expected — otherwise, it’s surprisingly clean. They both do the same sweep for anything that might be helpful, and (not shockingly) come up empty. She abandons him then for the bathroom, fairly confident he won’t find anything to truly get into trouble with.

The bathroom is fairly basic — a shower, a tub, a bar of soap and some towels that she can shake the dust out of. That’s all the invitation she needs to try the tap, finding the water freezing and then slowly warming to a tolerable temperature. Listening hard, she hears silence outside the door.

No time like the present. Stripping off the remains of her dress, she steps under the spray, making a noise of pleasure that (thankfully) has nothing to do with him. She’s occupied with the soap when she hears the door slide open, glancing sharply over her shoulder.

“I didn’t think I needed to hang an ‘occupied’ sign.”