“We walk from here,” Roman said, turning off the engine.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black flashlight, keeping his thumb over the lens to dim the light.

I opened my passenger door, the freezing air biting my face instantly.

We walked quickly across the wet lawn, our boots sinking into the muddy grass.

The smell of damp earth and rotting leaves was thick in the air.

We reached the back patio.

The glass door to the sunroom was locked, the brass handle cold to the touch.

Roman reached into his coat and pulled out a thin metal tool, working the lock with practiced ease.

A sharp click echoed in the quiet night, and he pushed the door open.

We stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind us.

The house was freezing, smelling of dust and old wood.

I walked through the dark dining room, my shoes making no sound on the heavy rug.

“This way,” I whispered, pointing toward the main staircase.

The wooden banister was cold under my hand as we climbed.