“Voss is right behind us,” Mara said, staring out at the empty road behind us.

“He has resources we can’t even map.”

“He doesn’t have the key,” I said.

“Not yet.”

I turned the SUV off the main highway onto a narrow, two-lane road.

Trees crowded the asphalt, their branches hanging low under the weight of the water.

We drove in silence for another twenty minutes.

Finally, the iron gates of the Mercer estate appeared through the gloom.

They were rusted, hanging half-open, choked with wild vines.

I didn’t slow down.

I drove the SUV straight through the gap, the tires crunching over gravel and wet leaves.

The house sat at the end of a long, winding driveway.

It was a gray stone Tudor, dark and imposing against the black sky.

No lights showed in any of the windows.

It looked completely dead.

I parked the SUV close to the side entrance, under the overhang of a stone archway.

“We’re here,” I said, turning off the engine.

The sudden silence inside the cabin was heavy.

Mara leaned her head back against the headrest, her eyes closed.