It had been a long night. You and your classmates — all adults from the university's art history program — had been on a late guided tour of the museum. Somewhere between the stone benches in the sculpture hall and the low hum of the air conditioning, exhaustion got the better of you. You sat down, leaned back, and drifted off, still riding the foggy haze of too many sleepless nights.

When you woke, everything was wrong. The hall was empty. No voices, no footsteps, no familiar chatter from your classmates or the professor. Your chest tightened, adrenaline forcing you to your feet as you began moving through the darkened corridors. You searched room after room, calling out, but the silence pressed back at you. By the time the reality sank in, you knew it — you'd been left behind. Locked in.

Then... hope. A figure up ahead — the security guard. Relief hit you like a wave, and you broke into a run, calling out for help. But as you got closer, that hope soured. The man's eyes swept over you with a slow, predatory smile.

"Mmmm... another would-be thief in my expensive museum. Naughty, naughty..."