“Yes,” I said, stepping out into the damp morning air.

The silence here was deafening, broken only by the call of a crow in the distance.

We walked up the creaking wooden steps of the porch.

I reached out to touch the front door, but it was already slightly ajar.

I frowned, looking down at the lock.

It had been forced open.

“Nathan,” I whispered, stepping back.

He pushed past me, his hand reaching into his pocket.

He slowly pushed the door open.

Inside, the living room was in ruins.

The old sofa had been ripped open, the stuffing scattered across the floor.

Books from the small shelf had been thrown everywhere.

Someone had already been here.

“They are looking for it,” Nathan said, his voice tense.

“Eleanor’s people.”

We hurried through the wreckage into the kitchen.

The floorboards were covered in dirt and broken glass.

I led Nathan to the pantry, where a small wooden trapdoor led down to the cellar.

The padlock on the trapdoor was broken, lying in two pieces on the floor.

My heart began to race.

“No,” I whispered.