It was the blue glow of a cell phone screen.

The phone was lying face up on a charred wooden crate, its screen illuminating a small circle of soot.

Beside the phone lay a small, leather-bound book.

The ledger.

“It’s here,” I breathed, taking a step forward.

Liam held me back, his eyes scanning the dark corners of the massive room.

“Wait,” he murmured. “It’s too quiet.”

Then, we heard a soft, muffled whimper from the wings of the stage.

It was followed by the sharp, metallic scrape of something heavy being dragged across the floor.

My eyes adjusted to the shadows, and I saw a figure tied to a wooden chair in the darkness of the wings.

It was Chloe, her mouth covered with heavy duct tape, her eyes wide with sheer terror.

She was shaking her head violently, her gaze fixed not on us, but on the dark space directly above her.

Before we could move, a heavy, familiar smell began to drift through the cold air.

It wasn’t the old smell of the five-year-old fire.

It was fresh, sharp, and highly chemical.