She hurried down the hallway, her bare feet silent on the rug.

I ran to the dining room, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I shoved the heavy leather ledger under the thick cushion of the armchair in the corner.

The front door lock clicked.

The heavy brass handle turned, and the front door swung open.

Nathan stepped into the entryway.

He was holding a large black umbrella, water dripping from the edges onto the hardwood floor.

He smelled of the cold rain, wet wool, and the sharp, sterile scent of the hospital.

He closed the umbrella and set it in the stand, his movements slow and deliberate.

Then he looked up and saw me standing in the shadow of the dining room.

His eyes were dark, taking in my disheveled hair, my bare feet, and the way I was holding my breath.

“Clara,” he said, his voice smooth and calm. “What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady.

I stepped out of the shadow of the dining room and into the dim light of the entryway.