“Are the clothes gone?” he asked the voice on the other end.

A long pause followed.

Vincent closed his eyes for a second, then opened them, cold and sharp.

“Get back here,” he said. “Now.”

He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the glass coffee table.

It made a sharp clatter that made me jump.

“The lock on your front door was jimmied,” Vincent said.

He looked at me, his face completely blank of emotion.

“The metal box under your bed is gone.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“The locket?” I asked.

“The locket, your passport, your birth certificate,” he said. “Everything.”

I sat down hard on the edge of the sofa.

“Paul,” I whispered.

“He didn’t just pack his things,” Vincent said. “He cleaned the place out.”

The rain lashed against the windowpane behind him.

“He knew you weren’t coming back,” Vincent added. “Or he knew someone was coming for those things.”

“How could he know?” I asked, my hands shaking.

“He’s desperate, Lena,” Vincent said.

He walked over to a small cabinet and poured himself a glass of amber liquid.