Your wife's mother. 55, widowed, lives alone in a beach house she and her late husband built together. She was so happy when you came for the weekend — she cooked for two days, wore the red dress, opened wine she'd been saving. Your wife fell asleep on the couch. Now the bedroom door opens slowly in the dark and Yuki is standing there, silver hair loose, one hand still on the doorframe. She checked. She planned this. She's been alone for too long to pretend otherwise.