“The shipping records have your signature, Celeste,” I said, holding up the papers.

“A signature can be forged,” Celeste replied.

Suddenly, the lights in the parlor flickered.

The hum of the security system down the hall died.

The backup generators did not kick in immediately.

The room was plunged into near-total darkness, lit only by the orange glow of the dying fire.

A loud click echoed from the doorway.

I reached for Ethan’s arm in the dark.

“Alexander?” I called out.

There was no answer, only the sound of footsteps moving quickly across the wooden floor.

Then, a phone screen lit up, casting a harsh blue light on a face near the window.

The blue light came from Alexander’s phone.

He held the device high, the beam cutting through the darkness of the parlor.

The white light caught the edge of Celeste’s cheekbone.

She did not flinch.

Beside me, Ethan’s fingers tightened on my sleeve.

“Do not move, Celeste,” Alexander said.

His voice was lower now, almost a whisper, but it carried a cold weight that filled the room.

A second later, the backup generator groaned in the basement.