A flashlight beam sliced through the darkness of the hallway, heading straight for the open doorway of the study.

My hand closed around the cold brass key just as the light swept across the threshold.

I slipped behind the heavy velvet drapes hanging beside the bookshelf, pulling my knees to my chest.

The fabric smelled of old dust and dry rot.

The beam of light bounced off the glass surface of the desk, illuminating the spot where the key had been only seconds before.

“He’s not here,” Gavin’s voice muttered, closer now.

I could hear his uneven breathing, the slight wheeze he always got when he was anxious.

“He said he was coming up from the basement,” Arthur’s voice replied from the doorway.

The floorboards creaked as one of them stepped fully into the room.

“Look at this desk,” Gavin said, his tone sharp. “Papers are scattered. Someone was just in here, Arthur.”

“You’re paranoid,” my father said, though his voice lacked conviction. “The wind probably blew the door open. The latch on that terrace window has been broken for years.”