The door opened an inch.

A sliver of warm air escaped, smelling of cinnamon and old wood.

I stood still, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The door opened wider.

Juliette stood in the threshold.

She had wrapped a black wool shawl over her red dress.

Her face was pale, her dark eyes wide.

She did not look like the confident woman who had sneered at me in the parlor.

She looked terrified.

“Claire,” she whispered.

Her voice was barely audible over the wind.

“Juliette?” I said.

“Get inside,” she said, her voice shaking. “Before he realizes I’m gone from the library.”

I hesitated.

I did not trust her.

“Is this a trap?” I asked.

“I don’t have time for this,” she said, looking back over her shoulder. “He is losing his mind, Claire. He’s talking about burning the documents if you don’t sign.”

She stepped back, leaving the door open.

I stepped onto the threshold, my boots squeaking on the linoleum floor of the pantry.

The warmth of the house hit me, making my skin sting.

Juliette closed the door behind me and slid the bolt back into place.