A small table had been overturned, and books were scattered across the floorboards.

“Dr. Hale?” Dominic called out, his voice low.

There was no answer.

Only the sound of the wind blowing through the broken window.

We walked into the living room.

The drawers of a writing desk had been ripped out, their contents dumped onto the rug.

“They were looking for something specific,” Marco said, kneeling to inspect a pile of papers.

“The files.”

“Did they find them?” I asked.

“No,” Dominic said, looking toward the hallway.

“Hale is smart.”

“She wouldn’t keep the originals here.”

Suddenly, a soft thud came from the basement stairs.

Marco drew his weapon in one fluid motion, pointing it toward the dark doorway at the end of the hall.

Dominic stepped in front of me, shielding me with his body.

The cellar door slowly creaked open further.

A faint, blue light began to pulse from the darkness below.

It was the screen of a cell phone, illuminating a pale, blood-smeared hand gripping the doorframe.

“Dr. Hale?” I whispered, stepping around Dominic.