It's never a great time to return to your room in search of some particular book and find the door open slightly, unlocked, not at all the way you left it—

If Wags were with her Abby would have sent him, hackles raised, in first to investigate the audible and unmistakable sound of things being lifted and moved aside, but it's only her. She softens her footsteps and pushes the door the rest of the way open with her fingertips, tipping her body around the frame and inside, reaching automatically for a engraved knife on a low table—

The intruder is on the floor, half underneath the bed. Legs sticking out and everything.

It shouldn't make Abby falter, but it does. Cuz it's weird.

"Um — hey. What the fuck are you doing?"