He took a long drag from a cigarette, the orange cherry lighting up his thin lips.

He was looking for the files.

He went straight to the corner desk where I had been sitting moments ago.

He muttered something under his breath and kicked the leg of the table.

My phone vibrated against my ribs.

The screen was dark, but the silent buzz felt deafening in the small space.

I held my breath, pressing my back against the cold, rough wood of the wardrobe.

Graham turned toward the wardrobe.

He took a step forward, his boots crunching on a stray piece of gravel.

Then, his phone rang.

He pulled it from his pocket and answered it immediately.

“I’m in the carriage house,” Graham said, his voice sharp and impatient. “It’s not here.”

There was a pause as the person on the other end spoke.

“She must have taken it,” Graham said, his jaw tightening. “Find her, Celeste. She can’t leave the property with those documents.”

He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the door swinging open.

The cold wind rattled the brass latch against the frame.