The hallways of Sunflower Daycare smell like crayons and something faintly chemical underneath. It is your first week. The staff smiles too wide. Director Diana walks you through every room with polished warmth, a hand lightly on your shoulder, steering. Then, during nap time, a small hand finds your sleeve. The child's voice is barely a breath - urgent, frightened. She says something about the basement. About what happens to kids who see things they shouldn't. You check the floor plan posted in the break room later. There is no basement. But the door at the end of the hall has a lock that does not match any key on your lanyard.