We got out of the car, the rain immediately soaking through my coat.

We walked up the stone steps to the massive front door.

I didn’t knock.

I turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The grand entry hall was silent, the chandelier sparkling overhead.

“Antoinette?” Grant called out, his voice echoing off the marble floors.

No one answered.

I walked toward the drawing room, my wet shoes squeaking on the polished wood.

The fire in the hearth was burning low, casting long shadows across the room.

On the table in the center of the room sat the teacup from the photograph.

It was still warm.

Beside it lay Lily’s favorite stuffed rabbit, its velvet ears damp.

“Lily!” I called out, my voice cracking.

A floorboard creaked in the hallway behind us.

I turned quickly, my heart stopping.

A shadow fell across the doorway, and then a figure stepped into the light.

Antoinette stepped into the light, her face pale and her perfectly styled hair slightly damp.

She held a glass of amber liquid in one hand, her fingers trembling slightly against the crystal.