Leanne ejects the tape. Holds it like a weapon.

She looks at the steel door. Beyond it, a corridor she built herself.

A single BULB swings. Dust hangs in the light.

Leanne sits. She presses PLAY.

He opens it.

Leanne’s fingers tremble. She fast-forwards. Stops.

Inside: a single chair. A microphone. A reel-to-reel tape recorder.