Bram’s sister did not thank Tessa for the offer.
“Who has a key?” she asked.
They were speaking over a call arranged by Nora. Bram’s mother sat beside her daughter at the old flat, the camera angled toward a bare wall. Tessa could see one sleeve, the corner of a chair and a strip of afternoon light. She did not ask them to widen the view.
“The charity’s staff,” Tessa answered. “You receive your own room key. The rooms aren’t self-contained. Kitchen and washrooms are shared.”
“And the outside door?”
“A resident key. There’s a night contact if the lock fails.”
“Can we leave without telling somebody why?”
“Yes. They ask residents to say if they’ll be away overnight so a missed return doesn’t become an emergency search. They don’t require permission.”
