“If I do not,” Alexander repeated, “she is protected. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Marcus said.

Suddenly, the heavy brass telephone on the desk began to ring.

The sound was sharp and loud, cutting through the tense silence of the room.

We all froze.

No one called this room at this hour.

Marcus looked down at the black rotary phone, his hand hovering over the receiver.

“It is the private line,” Marcus said. “Only Sofia has this number.”

The phone rang a second time, the brass bells inside clanging loudly.

“Answer it,” Alexander commanded, his voice suddenly sharp.

Marcus picked up the receiver and pressed it to his ear.

“Marcus Hale,” he said.

He listened for three seconds, his face turning from pale to completely bloodless.

“What do you mean?” Marcus asked, his grip tightening on the black plastic.

He looked up at Alexander, his eyes wide with a sudden, sharp panic.

“Sofia,” Marcus said into the receiver. “Where are you?”

He listened again, then slowly lowered the phone, his hand dropping to his side.

“Marcus?” Alexander demanded, trying to sit up in the chair. “What is it?”