The rain was still slicking the window.

Daniel was sitting in the chair beside me, holding my hand.

His face was tired, his eyes filled with concern.

“Claire,” he said gently.

“You are awake.”

“The fever is gone.”

I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“The boys,” I whispered.

“The fire.”

“The cellar.”

Daniel squeezed my hand.

“You have been asleep for three days, Claire,” he said.

“The doctors were worried.”

“But you are safe now.”

I looked at the nightstand.

The blue folder was sitting there.

But it was not empty.

And next to it, the old, tarnished baby rattle.

The exact same one.

“Did we win?” I asked.

Daniel smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

“Yes, Claire,” he said.

“We won.”

“The board is gone.”

But then, the phone on the nightstand began to buzz.

The screen lit up with an unknown number.

And a text message appeared on the display.

“He is lying.”

I looked at Daniel.

He was not looking at the phone.

He was looking at me.

And his hand was slowly sliding toward the drawer of the nightstand.