“Claire,” the guard said.

“Mr. Mercer wants you in the library.”

I looked at Margaret.

Her stern face softened for just a fraction of a second, a silent warning in her eyes.

“Go,” she whispered.

I wiped my hands on my apron and walked out.

The library was at the far end of the west wing.

It was a room filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the scent of old paper and leather.

A fire was crackling in the hearth, throwing orange shadows across the dark wood.

Julian was standing by the window, looking out at the dark lake.

A glass of amber liquid sat untouched on his desk.

He did not turn around when I entered.

“Close the door,” he said.

I pushed the heavy door shut until it clicked.

I remained near the entrance, my hands clasped in front of me.

“I am preparing my resignation, Mr. Mercer,” I said quickly, wanting to get the words out before I lost my nerve.

“I will pack our bags tonight.”

“Emma and I can be gone before midnight.”

Julian did not answer right away.