The window has been left open. Just an inch, but a warm breeze from the late summer evening is nudging it further and further open. The air, filled with smells and sounds from gardens, picnics, children that had been playing earlier in the day, pub garden laughter and cars rumbling past, squeezes into the room. The lights are off. The deep orange glow of the sun melts into darkness and the thin yellow glare of the streetlight creeps in from outside. The shadows cling to their hiding places, shifting awkwardly, before settling down for the night. Seconds pass. Minutes. The breeze has stopped. Voices outside have drifted away leaving silence. The four walls stand up tall around the space that’s holding its breath. Waiting.