He stared at the words, his jaw tightening until the muscles in his cheek clumped into hard knots.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered.

I nodded, my throat too dry to make a sound.

He slipped his hand into his coat pocket, his fingers wrapping around something heavy and metallic.

We moved down the carpeted hallway, keeping our backs close to the cold wood paneling.

The blue light at the far end of the corridor seemed to pulse like a slow, dying heart.

With every step, the air grew colder, smelling faintly of old paper and furniture polish from Mrs. Bellamy’s office.

My sneakers made no sound on the runner, but my own heartbeat felt loud enough to wake the entire estate.

Lorenzo stopped just outside the heavy oak door of the office.

The door was cracked open about two inches, letting a sharp slice of blue light cut across the dark floorboards.

Inside, I could hear the rapid, erratic clicking of a computer keyboard.

There was another sound, too—a low, ragged breathing that sounded like someone trying not to cry.

Lorenzo didn’t hesitate.