His thumb pressed against his phone screen, the bright white light illuminating his sharp jawline.

“Marcus,” Alexander spoke into the receiver. “Are the steel shutters down?”

Static crackled through the speaker before the head of security replied.

“North and east sectors are sealed, sir,” Marcus said. “The west wall is still failing to respond to the remote command.”

“Manual override,” Alexander said. “Go.”

He ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket.

Then, he looked down at the paper in his hand.

The paper was aged, yellowed at the edges, bearing the faint scent of lavender.

“This is Eleanor’s hand,” Alexander said softly, his voice cutting through the rising panic in the room.

The room went completely silent, save for the distant, heavy thud of metal shutters sealing the lower windows.

“It is a lie!” Celeste cried out, stepping closer to him, her shadow stretching long and distorted against the wall.

“She copied it from old documents in the library.”

“She had access to everything, Alexander.”

“She washed your clothes, she cleaned your study, she had the keys to every room.”