Inside the room, the young girl sat cross-legged on the bed, her face illuminated by the soft glow of a nightlight shaped like a unicorn. Her eyes were fixed on a notebook in her lap, her expression distant and mechanical as she scribbled continuously. Daniel Harper, or whatever his real name might be, stood across the room, watching her with a cold, scrutinizing gaze. His demeanor was no longer that of a suburban dad, but something far more sinister.
Angela’s heart raced as she strained to see more. The girl’s movements seemed repetitive, robotic even, as if she was under some kind of pressure. She noticed the walls lined with large sheets of paper covered in strange symbols and equations, things no eleven-year-old should be familiar with. Was this some kind of twisted tutoring session?
