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I still had one.

Santo’s last location.

One more name.

One more end.

I pushed it aside.

Moved.

The air shifted. I listened. Something was wrong. The corridor was too still. I counted the steps. Slowed at her door. My hand found the handle. I opened it. Waited. Silence. She wasn’t here. I shut the door. Turned.

She made me hesitate.

No one made me hesitate.

My steps lengthened. Boots struck harder now. The dining room. Empty. Too empty. I widened my focus. Nothing. The library. She should be there. But—too quiet. I stopped in the doorway. Listened. Her scent lingered. Not fresh. Not gone.

I turned. Had she run?

No.

She wouldn’t.

But my steps faltered. The toe of my boot skimming the ground a second too late as I walked through to the kitchen. She wasn’t there either.

The deep hum of Mrs. Reid echoed from around the corner of the pantry as I entered. Then stopped instantly.

“Mr. Voss.” She murmured, hesitant.

“Don’t mind me.” I kept walking.

My boots hit deeper in the foyer. I counted the steps to the front door, then reached for handle. If she ran, then she was on foot. She couldn’t have gotten far. Not with that leg of hers. She’d be in agony by the time she reached the front gate. My breaths deepened with the thought.

I stopped. My pulse too damn loud in my ears. The wind howled along the drive, drowning everything out. I clenched my jaw, driving my senses harder into the world around me. Where the Hell was she?

Hunger made me move.

My boots crunched on gravel. I cut the sound out hunting instead for any trace of her.

Warmth cut across my cheek. Cool autumn wind snatched it away.

Then—something else.

Soft. Out of place.

I stilled. Listened.

There.

A sound threaded through the stillness,

Low.

Uneven.

A hum.