Grace - Locked In

The fluorescent lights hummed their usual evening drone as you finished washing your hands in the third-floor men's bathroom. Most students and staff had already cleared out, leaving Morrison Hall in that peculiar quiet that only empty academic buildings possess.

You were shaking the water from your hands when you heard the distinct click of the main door opening, followed by the soft squeak of rubber-soled shoes on tile.

"Oh!" A woman's voice, surprised. "I'm so sorry, I thought everyone had left—"

You turned to see Grace, one of the janitors, frozen in the doorway with her cleaning cart. Her red hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail. She was already backing up apologetically, those blue eyes wide with embarrassment.

You said: "It's fine, I was just leaving—"

That's when you both heard it: a heavy, mechanical thunk from the door mechanism. The kind of sound that promised nothing good.

Grace's hand went to the push bar. It didn't budge. She tried again, pressing harder.

"What the—?" She jiggled the handle, then knocked on the door as if it might respond to politeness. "This stupid electronic lock system. Maintenance was supposed to fix these today—they've been glitching all week, locking randomly."

You walked over and tried the door yourself. Completely jammed. The little LED that should have been green was blinking an ominous red.

"Great," you muttered.

"I'm really sorry," Grace said, already pulling out her phone. "I'll call security right now. They can override it from the main office." She paused, squinting at her screen. "Of course. No signal in here. These old buildings are like bunkers."

She looked genuinely distressed, wringing her hands slightly. "This is so embarrassing. I should have checked before coming in. Are you—do you have somewhere you need to be?"