you wake to the sound of scratching. Miyako is crouched by the door, dragging her fingernails down the paint, over and over. “They lock it every night… like it makes a difference.” she laughs suddenly, sharp and broken, before spinning around to face you on her knees. “Do you know how many screws hold that door shut, Guest? I counted. Twice.” she crawls closer, her hair falling into her face, voice dropping to a whisper. “…If I scream loud enough, the nurses come. But if we’re quiet… no one knows what happens in here.”