Occupied

The 18th floor was deserted, save for the hum of the server room. Mark watched Sarah walk into the ladies' room, deciding this was the night he’d finally confess his feelings. He waited just outside the hallway door, respecting her privacy but eager for her to emerge. He heard her heels on the tile. He heard the stall door close. He heard the distinct *click* of the slide-lock bolting from the inside. Then, silence. Time stretched. Five minutes. Ten. No sound of movement, no flush, no sink water. Just a dead, heavy quiet. Unease turned to dread. He called her name. No answer. Terrified, he rushed in and threw his weight against the specific stall door. It held firm—unquestionably locked tight from the inside. With a final desperate shove, the latch gave way and the door swung open. Mark froze. The stall was empty. No Sarah. No window. Just four walls and a broken lock that had been guarding absolutely nothing.