“Let’s be quick anyway,” Liam said, turning the flashlight toward the back hallway.

The apartment felt damp and smelled of stagnant water.

We walked into the bedroom.

Chloe’s clothes were scattered across the unmade bed as if she had packed in a desperate hurry.

Drawers were left pulled out, some dumped completely onto the carpet.

“Where would she keep it?” I asked, looking at the mess.

“Beatrice wouldn’t let her keep anything obvious,” Liam said. “Look for loose panels, floorboards, or hollow spaces.”

I knelt by the nightstand, pulling out the bottom drawer and checking the underside.

Nothing but dusty wood.

I stood up and walked to the closet, stepping over a pile of high-heeled shoes.

The closet floor was covered in cheap linoleum that had begun to peel at the corners.

I crouched down, touching the curling edge of the grey plastic sheet.

Underneath, the wooden subfloor felt uneven.

“Liam,” I called out softly. “Bring the light.”

He crossed the room and angled the beam over my shoulder.

I slid my fingers under the loose linoleum and pulled it back.