“Drop it,” Ethan ordered, tightening his grip on my arm until pain flared through my shoulder.

“Drop it, or I swear I’ll pull this trigger right now.”

Daniel hesitated, his eyes locked on mine.

I shook my head slightly, pleading with him silently.

Daniel slowly let his fingers loosen, and the heavy wooden spindle clattered to the floorboards.

“Good,” Ethan breathed, his hot breath brushing against my ear.

He dragged me toward the closet door, his wet boots squeaking on the wood.

“Open it,” he commanded.

“There’s nothing in there, Ethan,” I pleaded.

He kicked the slatted door with his boot.

The wood cracked, and a small gasp came from inside the darkness of the closet.

Ethan reached out, yanked the door open, and shone the flashlight inside.

Megan was curled on the floor, her hands over her ears, her face pale and streaked with tears.

“Get up,” Ethan barked.

“Ethan, please leave her out of this,” I begged, struggling against his grip.

“Shut up and move,” he said, shoving me toward the narrow staircase at the back of the hallway.

The attic stairs.