“Then we worry about the rest.”

I started toward the library.

The heavy oak doors were closed.

I pushed them open, the scent of old paper and leather rushing to meet me.

The room was vast, shelves stretching up to the ceiling.

Where would he put it?

I walked toward the desk.

The mahogany surface was clear, except for a brass lamp and a leather blotter.

I opened the top drawer.

Nothing but pens, paperclips, and a stack of old ledger books.

“Daniel, check the bookshelves near the window,” I said.

“Look for anything that looks out of place.”

“A book that isn’t a book.”

“Or a loose panel.”

Daniel went to the shelves, his hands scanning the spines.

I knelt down, looking under the desk.

There was a small wooden box attached to the underside of the drawer.

It was held in place by two magnetic strips.

My breath caught in my throat.

I reached out and pulled the box free.

It was light.

I flipped the latch.

Inside was a small, velvet-lined compartment.

But it was empty.