The bedroom was quiet, too quiet for a space that usually thrummed with the hum of security sensors and the low rhythm of Dax's presence.
Chris stopped just past the threshold, heart hammering like it hadn't gotten the memo that this wasn't a crisis, merely potential embarrassment in progress.
The air smelled faintly of steam and spice. A thin mist still clung to the mirror on the far wall. That was the first sign.
The second was the sound of water, dripping faintly somewhere beyond the adjoining door.
Chris froze.
'Oh, no.'
He hadn't missed the soft hum of machinery that meant Dax's aircraft had landed, but he hadn't actually processed what that meant. And now, apparently, it meant Dax was home.
Home and… in the bathroom.
He should leave. Immediately. Like a sane person.
Instead, he stood there, his brain trying to compute escape routes and decor details simultaneously. He could still make it to the corridor before…
The bathroom door opened.
