My teenage daughter is staying in a hotel for the first time. She's there on a school trip with her classmates. She sent me a picture and said there's a strange hole at the foot of the bed, covered with cushions. I can't figure out what it's for or why it's there.

It wasn’t an architectural mistake. It wasn't a luggage nook. It was a deliberate, concealed breach between two adjacent rooms. The cushions hadn't been placed there by a careless maid; they had been shoved there to muffle sound and hide the opening from whoever was unlucky enough to check into Room 312.

If the boys next door didn't know it was there, then someone else did. Someone who had access to these rooms before the school group arrived. Someone who wanted a clear, unobstructed view—or entry—from beneath the covers.

Maya, listen to me very carefully, Elena wrote, her heart hammering against her ribs. I want you and Chloe to pack your bags right now. Do not touch those cushions again.

Mom, you’re scaring me, it’s just a weird room—

No, it isn’t, Elena shot back. A hole covered by cushions at the foot of a bed that connects two rooms is a massive security breach. I am calling your chaperone, Mr. Harrison, right now. You two are going to wait in the lobby with him. If the hotel doesn't move you to a different floor immediately, I am booking you a room at the Marriott across the street myself.

Elena didn't wait for her daughter's reply. She scrolled furiously through her contacts to find the school's emergency trip roster. As the phone began to ring, she stared one last time at the photo Maya had sent. In the dark shadow behind the stuffed cushions, at the very edge of the camera's flash, she noticed a tiny, metallic glint attached to the inner wooden beam.

It looked exactly like the lens of a hardwired camera.

"Come on, Harrison, pick up," Elena whispered into the empty living room, gripping her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Pick up the phone