Ren opened the door and ruined the plan without taking a second step. The small bell tied to the handle struck the frame. I moved behind the chair, caught its leg against the rug, and found myself holding a wooden practice blade at a man carrying clean towels.
He looked at the blade.
Then at the chair.
"Should I come back?"
I lowered the wood.
The rehearsal had produced a warning, a blocked exit, and one person standing exactly where an attacker might put a knife. None of those results had belonged to my plan.
"I thought you were at the stores desk."
"They had the towels ready."
I looked at the clock. He had returned within the agreed hours. The failure was entirely mine.
Ren was still holding the towels. The upper one had begun to slide against his wrist. I took a step toward him, then stopped because the wooden blade was still in my hand.
He had seen it too.
