Homicide.

I looked down at the journal, feeling the weight of Claire’s final words.

She had left a trail in the dark, hoping someone would find it.

Sophie had kept it safe, hidden away in the freezing stone wall of the mansion.

Above us, the floorboards creaked.

It wasn’t the light, rhythmic step of Emma or Lily.

It was a heavy, slow tread, moving directly toward the basement door.

I froze, my hand still holding the journal tightly against my coat.

Pierce stopped talking mid-sentence, his eyes darting toward the stairs.

The footsteps stopped right at the top of the wooden steps.

The light switch clicked.

The single bulb at the bottom of the stairs went black, plunging us into total darkness.

I held my breath, the leather of Claire’s journal cold against my palms.

The silence in the basement was absolute, save for the faint, rhythmic dripping of a pipe somewhere behind the old coal cellar.

Pierce’s hand found my elbow in the dark, his grip firm and steadying.

I could hear his shallow breathing right next to my ear.