Shelley looks up, disbelieving. She locked it, it was locked. Very cautiously she peers around the back of the armchair that obscures her position from the door.

And nobody's even there. Or-

She can't quite focus on the figure, but-

(What?)

The door is open. One hand goes almost automatically to pull the chain out of her dress, lifting the ter'angreal into her hand as a precaution in case...