There was a broken wooden crate in the corner and a pile of old iron pipes near the furnace.

I crept over to the pipes, my bare feet making no sound on the cold floor.

I lifted a short, heavy iron rod.

It was cold and weighed down my bruised arm, but it gave me a sense of security.

I moved back toward the shadow of the stairs, pressing myself against the wooden frame.

Through the crack in the cellar door, I saw the dim light of the hallway.

Evelyn was pacing, her high heels clicking softly on the floorboards.

“Marcus?” she called out.

There was no answer from the back of the building.

“Marcus, hurry up,” she said, her voice laced with irritation.

I heard her footsteps approach the cellar door.

The iron latch clicked, and the door swung open.

The light from the hallway spilled inside, casting her long shadow down the wooden steps.

She stepped onto the top landing, looking down into the darkness.

“Alessia?” she called.

I held my breath, shrinking back into the shadows beneath the stairs.