I stepped over a broken ceramic mug.

“Is anyone here?” I whispered to the empty room.

No one answered.

I walked into the kitchen.

The cabinet doors hung open on their hinges.

My flour and sugar canisters had been dumped into the sink, the white powder turning to paste under a dripping faucet.

They were looking for physical media.

They wanted my father’s encrypted drives.

The ones Cole knew I had taken from the estate.

I moved toward the bedroom, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The mattress had been dragged off the frame and slashed.

My clothes were torn from the hangers and scattered across the hardwood floor.

Someone had poured a bottle of my perfume over the heap.

The heavy, sweet scent of jasmine hung in the cold air, making my stomach churn.

But they had missed the floorboard under the heating vent.

I knelt down in the debris of my wardrobe.

My fingers found the loose edge of the baseboard.

I pulled it back, my fingernails scraping against the rough wood.

The metal box was still there, tucked into the dark joist space.