“I see,” Marcus murmured.

He sounded disappointed, but his tone was polite.

“The high-resolution version does show the geometric distortion,” Marcus admitted.

“Optical illusions are incredibly common in digital photography,” Julian said.

He patted Marcus on the shoulder in a friendly, collegial manner.

“But of course, you are welcome to see the basement anyway,” Julian added.

He held up the brass key.

“We have nothing to hide,” Julian said.

Julian led the way down the narrow hallway toward the cellar door.

I followed behind them, my chest incredibly tight.

Julian inserted the brass key into the lock.

It turned with a loud, heavy click.

He pushed the door open and flipped a switch on the wall.

Bright fluorescent lights flickered on, illuminating a clean concrete room.

There were stacks of plastic storage bins filled with holiday decorations.

There were spare boxes of kitchen tiles and a row of winter coats hanging on a rack.

The walls were solid, painted concrete.

There was no antique latch on the wall.

There was no hidden door visible.

Marcus walked around the perimeter of the room, tapping his knuckles against the concrete.