Vincent picked it up immediately and pressed it to his ear.

“Speak,” he said.

I stood up from the sofa, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I watched his face, trying to read any change in his expression.

His brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?” Vincent asked, his voice cold.

He stood up, walking back toward the window.

“Is the door open?” he asked.

The silence in the room was absolute, save for the muffled sound of the rain.

Vincent listened for another second, his jaw tightening.

“Check the bedroom,” he commanded.

“Vincent?” I whispered.

He raised a hand to silence me, his eyes fixed on the rain outside.

Vincent pressed the phone closer to his ear.

“Is the safe box there?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave.

The silence in the room stretched so thin I could hear the hum of the refrigerator.

Vincent’s knuckles turned white around the casing of his phone.

“Go look in the closet,” he said.

I took a step toward him, my slippers silent on the rug.

“Vincent, please,” I said. “What is it?”

He didn’t look at me.