Marcus took a step forward, his leather shoes silent on the rug.

“The combination is eight digits,” Marcus said, his eyes scanning the keypad.

“If you enter the wrong sequence twice, the silent alarm alerts the entire security detail.”

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I remembered the old ledger in the library that listed the construction dates of the estate.

The timber for the study had arrived from Maine in nineteen fifty-two.

But Alexander had said to subtract the days of the winter harvest.

I closed my eyes, recalling the quiet evenings spent polishing the silver while he read by the fire.

He had mentioned the harvest of forty-eight.

Nineteen fifty-two minus forty-eight.

I opened my eyes and reached for the cold brass dial of the safe.

“What are you doing?” Sofia whispered, taking a step toward me.

“Let her work, Sofia,” Marcus said, though his hand rested near the lapel of his jacket.

I turned the dial to the right, stopping on the first number.

I entered the remaining digits into the keypad, the buttons beeped softly under my fingertips.

The sound seemed incredibly loud in the quiet room.

I pressed the final star key.

For a second, nothing happened.

The rain continued to lash against the glass outside.

Then, a heavy, mechanical clunk echoed from behind the steel plating.

The small indicator light on the keypad turned from red to a solid, pale green.

Sofia let out a sharp breath, her hand flying to her mouth.

Marcus did not move, but his posture grew incredibly rigid.

I pulled the heavy steel door open.

The scent of dust, old paper, and machine oil drifted into the damp air of the room.

Inside the safe lay a thick, leather-bound book and a stack of official-looking documents.

I reached my hand inside, my fingers brushing the cold paper.