He did not look like a man who had been sleeping.

His eyes met mine, and he gave a single, firm nod toward the upper hallway.

“Go to the nursery, Grace,” he whispered, his voice carrying clearly down the stairwell.

“Keep them quiet. Do not let anyone up there.”

I did not hesitate.

I turned and ran lightly up the back service stairs, my soft-soled cleaning shoes making no sound against the wood.

The air in the upper corridor was cool and smelled of old wax and lavender.

I slipped into the nursery and closed the heavy door behind me, clicking the lock into place.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the soft, green glow of the baby monitors.

I walked to the first crib.

Leo was moving, his tiny fists bunching up the cotton sheet.

I placed my palm gently against his chest, feeling the rapid, shallow rhythm of his breathing.

“Shh,” I whispered, leaning close. “It’s alright.”

He settled, his head turning to the side as he drifted back into a deeper sleep.

Downstairs, the heavy brass knocker on the front door struck three times.