Rafael stepped out of his room, the box of massage tools clutched tightly in his hand as he descended the stairs, heading back to the dining room.
When he arrived, he was surprised to find the table cleared, as if they hadn't eaten there at all. The kitchen, too, was dark, its lights turned off, leaving the area eerily quiet.
"Where did they all go?" he muttered under his breath, setting the box down on the table. He leaned back against one of the chairs, arms folded, deep in thought.
And I don't know where his room is, he realized with a twinge of frustration. Upstairs or down here?
He picked up the box once more and headed back upstairs, recalling that someone had mentioned Marco stayed in one of the rooms on the same floor as his. But which one?
As he reached the top of the stairs, he stopped in front of a door that seemed like the most likely candidate. He hesitated for a moment, then raised his hand and knocked.
