I ran my fingers over the edge of the wood, searching for any loose seam.

The floorboards here were tight, old growth oak that had been laid a century ago.

But one board felt slightly different.

It was a fraction of an inch higher than the others.

I pressed my thumb against the edge of the board.

It yielded slightly with a soft creak.

“Eleanor,” Victoria said, her voice dangerously quiet. “Step away from that floor.”

“Don’t touch her,” Arthur said.

I slid my fingernails into the tiny gap and pulled upward.

The board lifted, revealing a dark, narrow space beneath the joists.

Inside the cavity lay a long, metal cylinder wrapped in oiled silk.

My breath caught in my throat.

“What is that?” Charles breathed, taking a step closer.

I reached my hand into the dark space and gripped the cool metal.

As my fingers closed around the cylinder, a loud, metallic click echoed through the room.

It didn’t come from the floor.

It came from the doorway behind us.

We all turned to look.