“Denise?” a voice called out.

It was Gregory.

His footsteps, sharp and confident, sounded on the marble floor of the foyer.

I looked at Eleanor.

Her face had gone completely pale, her eyes wide with a sudden, paralyzing fear.

“He’s back,” she whispered.

I grabbed her arm, pulling her back toward the shadow of the heavy drapes near the window.

The footsteps were coming closer, moving toward the library doors.

The handle of the library door began to turn.

The brass handle clicked.

I grabbed Eleanor’s wrist and pulled her behind the heavy velvet drapes.

The fabric was dusty, smelling of old wool and damp air.

The library door swung open with a soft creak.

Gregory’s polished leather shoes clicked against the marble floor.

He stopped just inside the room.

“Eleanor?” he called out.

His voice was flat, dry, and entirely devoid of warmth.

I held my breath, the hard corner of Daniel Hayes’s journal pressing into my ribs through my uniform jacket.

Through the narrow gap in the drapes, I saw him walk toward the mahogany desk.

He noticed the open drawer immediately.