His leather soles clicked on the first step.

I held my breath, pressing my back against the cold brick wall.

“I know you are here,” Harrison said, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm.

“Grace cannot protect you out here in the dark.”

Matteo pointed toward a small, square opening near the ceiling at the back of the pantry.

It was the old coal chute, long boarded up but loose at the bottom.

He pushed against the wood, and it gave way with a soft, scraping sound.

“Go,” he whispered, his mouth right against my ear.

I climbed onto a wooden crate, scraping my palm against the rough pine.

The wood splintered under my fingers, but I did not make a sound.

I squeezed through the narrow opening, sliding out onto the wet grass of the kitchen garden.

The cold rain hit my face instantly, soaking my hair and my clothes.

Matteo scrambled out behind me, pulling the wooden board back into place.

We crouched in the dark, the shadow of Aster Hall towering above us like a gray monument.