His body was warm and familiar, a small comfort in the freezing dark.

“We have to go,” Damon’s voice came from the stairs behind us.

He was ascending quickly, his flashlight casting long, erratic shadows on the walls.

“The perimeter is breached,” he said.

“We are going to the basement.”

“The basement?” Marlene asked, her voice cracking.

“There is a secure room,” Damon said, reaching the landing and placing a hand on my back.

He guided us toward the back stairs that led down to the cellar.

“Move quickly.”

We hurried down the narrow hallway, the beam of Damon’s light bouncing off the family portraits on the walls.

Before we reached the cellar door, a loud, metallic clatter echoed from the kitchen below.

It sounded like a metal pan hitting the tile floor.

Damon stopped instantly, throwing his arm out to block us.

He turned off his flashlight.

The darkness swallowed us once more.

We stood in the narrow corridor, holding our breath.

Then, the sound of heavy footsteps began to climb the back stairs, coming straight toward us.