“Where are the girls?” Benjamin muttered, his eyes scanning the chaotic room.

“They should be in bed,” I said.

We walked past the crowded bar and headed toward the west wing, where the children’s bedrooms were located.

The noise of the music began to fade as we moved down the long, dim hallway.

It grew noticeably colder with every step we took.

I reached out and touched the wall.

The drywall felt like ice.

The digital thermostat on the wall showed forty-eight degrees.

“Why is the heat off in this wing?” Benjamin asked, his voice shaking.

We reached the door to ten-year-old Emma’s room.

The door was locked from the outside with a heavy brass deadbolt.

My heart sank.

“Benjamin,” I whispered, pointing at the metal lock.

His face went pale.

He grabbed the brass knob and rattled it violently.

“Emma!” he called out. “Emma, are you in there?”

A tiny, shivering voice answered from the dark inside.

“Daddy?”

Benjamin did not hesitate.

He threw his shoulder against the heavy wood door, once, twice, until the frame splintered and gave way.

The room inside was pitch black and freezing.

Frost had formed on the inside of the glass windowpane.

Four small figures were huddled together on a single thin mattress on the floor.

Emma was holding five-year-old Grace close to her chest.

Lily and Sophie, the seven-year-old twins, were shivering under a single dirty blanket.

“It’s so cold, Daddy,” Grace whimpered, her lips blue.

There was no food in the room, only an empty pitcher of water on the floor.

Benjamin dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around all four of them.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice cracking with a pain I had never heard before. “I’m so sorry.”

I stepped into the room and felt the chill seep through my leather boots.

I reached into my coat and pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling.