The master suite was a cathedral of glass and shadow. As Maya stepped into the bathroom, the lights hummed to life, sensing her presence. It was a space designed for ultimate relaxation—black slate floors, a walk-in shower with a ceiling-mounted rain head, and a massive, floor-to-ceiling smart mirror that dominated the far wall.
Maya set her bag on the vanity. Her hands were still trembling. She looked into the mirror, expecting to see a mess of wet hair and smeared mascara. Instead, the glass shimmered.
“Good evening, Maya,” a smooth, feminine voice projected from the walls. “Would you like to adjust the water temperature or activate the steam cycle?”
"Water... lukewarm," Maya whispered. "And some music. Something quiet."
As the hidden speakers began to play a soft, ambient lo-fi track, Maya stripped off her damp clothes. She felt a strange prickle on the back of her neck—the sensation of being watched. She turned around, looking at the sleek, minimalist corners of the room. Nothing but marble and expensive fixtures.
She stepped into the shower. The water cascaded over her, hot and needles-sharp. For a few minutes, she let the steam swallow her. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the image of the boardroom she had fled, the faces of the men who would kill to get that drive back.
I’m safe here, she told herself. Bate is just a guy. A very handsome, very helpful guy.
But when she opened her eyes to reach for the soap, she saw a flicker.
Through the steam, she looked at the smart mirror. The digital interface—the clock, the weather, the "Help" button—stayed bright. But for a split second, the background of the mirror seemed to... shift. It was as if the silver backing had become transparent for a heartbeat, revealing a dark space on the other side.
Maya froze. She wiped a patch of fog from the glass door of the shower.
The mirror was reflecting the bathroom perfectly. But there was a tiny, circular distortion in the center of the glass, right at eye level. It wasn't a smudge. It was a lens.
"Bate?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the music.
Suddenly, the music cut out. The silence was absolute.
“Is everything to your satisfaction, Maya?”
It wasn't the AI voice. It was Bate’s voice, coming through the bathroom speakers. It was intimate, as if he were standing right behind her.
"I... yes," Maya stammered, grabbing a towel and wrapping it tightly around herself as she stepped out of the shower. "I was just wondering... is there someone else in the house? I heard a noise."
"Just Mother," Bate replied. There was a faint clicking sound—the sound of someone typing. "She’s restless tonight. She’s worried about our guest. She thinks you’re hiding something, Maya."
Maya felt the blood drain from her face. She looked at her bag sitting on the vanity, right next to the mirror. "I don't know what you mean."
"She thinks you’re a thief," Bate said. His voice was no longer professional. It was playful, like a cat batting at a mouse. "But I told her you’re just a girl who needs help. And I love to help, Maya. It’s my favorite part of the job."
Maya reached for her bag, but before her fingers could touch the leather, the bathroom door hissed shut. The electronic lock engaged with a heavy, metallic thunk.
"Bate! Open the door!" she shouted, banging her fist against the wood.
The smart mirror flickered again. This time, the digital interface vanished entirely. The glass became a window.
On the other side, in a darkened room filled with monitors, Bate Norman sat in a high-backed chair. He was still wearing the crisp white shirt, but he had a pair of silver headphones around his neck. He was looking directly at her through the glass, his handsome face illuminated by the blue glow of a dozen screens.
He looked at her with a terrifying, calm curiosity. He wasn't holding a knife. He was holding a remote.
"How may I help you today, Maya?" he asked, his voice now echoing from the mirror itself. "The door is locked. The windows are reinforced. And 'Mother' says you’ve been very, very bad."
He pressed a button. From the ventilation slats in the ceiling, a thin, colorless mist began to hiss into the room.
"Wait! No!" Maya screamed, lunging for the door again, but her legs felt like lead. The world began to tilt. The edges of her vision turned a fuzzy, static grey.
As she slumped to the floor, the last thing she saw was Bate Norman rising from his chair. He walked toward the glass, placing his hand against it, right where her face would have been. He gave her that same, perfect, "Superhost" smile.
"Sleep well, Maya," he whispered. "The second half of your stay is about to begin."
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and then Add to home screen.