The wood groaned under a heavy, slow tread.

It was Caleb.

He carried a half-empty glass of amber liquid, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

He wore his silk bathrobe, the belt trailing on the floor behind him.

He muttered something to himself, shaking his head as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

I watched him through the gaps in the banister.

He took a long sip from his glass, then wandered toward the study.

The door clicked shut behind him.

I waited for ten seconds, counting the beats of my own pulse.

Then I moved.

I climbed the stairs quickly, keeping my weight near the wall to avoid the squeaking steps.

The air grew colder as I reached the upper landing.

The east wing was dark, the long carpet absorbing the sound of my wet boots.

I reached the door of the nursery.

The brass handle felt cold in my hand.

I turned it slowly, pushing the door open inch by inch.

The room was dark, save for the pale moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains.

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, letting the latch click softly.