The door was cracked open. Inside, the air felt colder than it should’ve, the kind of cold that comes from outside. The window near the corner stood shut now, but the latch wasn’t fully turned, and the curtain hung wrong—as if it had been brushed aside and dropped back in a hurry. Julia crossed the room and pressed her fingertips to the glass.
It was cool, fresh-cool, not the stale temperature it usually held. Then she noticed the rest. One of the resistance bands was no longer looped over the hook where she kept it. A folded mat leaned against the wall at a different angle. The small stool she used to steady things sat half a foot away from its usual spot, as if someone had moved it without caring to put it back precisely.