The recording was still running, capturing every sound.

I tapped the stop button and saved the file.

I slid the phone back into my pocket and clutched the manila folder to my chest.

I had to hide.

The only place near me was the small closet under the stairs, where we kept the old winter coats.

I took three silent steps backward, my back scraping against the wall.

I reached for the brass knob of the closet door.

It was cold and stiff.

I turned it slowly, millimeter by millimeter, praying the latch wouldn’t click.

The footsteps in the dining room grew louder.

Rylan was at the threshold.

“Rylan, wait,” Solene called out from the table. “You forgot the notary’s phone number.”

The footsteps stopped.

“Where is it?” Rylan asked.

“It is on the pad in the kitchen,” she said. “Take it with you.”

I used those few seconds to slip inside the closet.

I pulled the door closed until it was almost shut, leaving only a tiny crack so the latch wouldn’t snap into place.

The air inside the closet was thick with the smell of mothballs and damp wool.