My boots pressed into soft, damp earth where the floorboards had long since rotted away.

Ahead of me, the shadows were thick, but I could hear Chloe’s shallow, ragged breathing.

“Let me see the confirmation number,” Beatrice demanded from the main room.

Her voice sounded thinner now, vibrating with desperate greed.

“Step closer, Liam,” she ordered. “But keep your hands where I can see them.”

“I’m stepping forward,” Liam said, his voice echoing in the hollow space. “Just keep the lighter away from the floor.”

I squeezed through a gap between two charred wooden beams.

The rough wood scraped against my jacket, but I did not make a sound.

I reached the edge of the old prompter’s box.

Through the splintered floorboards, I could see the back of Beatrice’s coat.

She was standing five feet in front of me, her attention locked entirely on Liam.

Below her, the floor was slick with the dark, reflective sheen of gasoline.

Chloe was tied to a thick iron support pipe just to Beatrice’s left.

A dirty cloth was stuffed into Chloe’s mouth, and her eyes were wide with terror.