We drove up the long gravel driveway, the tires crunching softly.

The house was dark, except for a single light burning in the second-floor study.

I checked my weapon, chambering a round with a solid metallic click.

Sophia drew her pistol and held it close to her chest.

We climbed the stone steps to the front porch, our footsteps muffled by the sound of the crashing waves below.

I reached out and turned the brass doorknob.

The door was unlocked.

It swung open into the dark foyer, revealing a trail of wet footprints on the polished hardwood floor.

A floorboard creaked directly above us.

I pointed toward the winding staircase.

Sophia nodded, keeping her gun leveled at the landing above.

We moved up the steps, pressing our backs against the wood-paneled wall.

The air smelled of sea salt, damp wool, and stale cigarette smoke.

With every step, the wood beneath our boots groaned.

At the top of the stairs, a line of bright yellow light stretched across the hallway carpet.

It came from beneath the door of the second-floor study.