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I lifted them.

Blinked.

Mud and dirt caked under my nails.

Blinked again.

It was gone.

Cold crept in, even under the hot spray. I hit the taps and stepped out. I didn’t feel the towel. Didn’t quite catch the water. My hair still dripped as I walked into the walk in robe. I pulled on leggings today, thermal top, warm sweater. I couldn’t stop shaking. Why couldn’t I stop?

My steps hit hard as I stepped out of my room and slowly made my way along the hall. I knew this place now. The rhythm. The rules. There was no Alaric waiting in the dining room. For that I was grateful. I didn’t think I could face him today.

I went into the kitchen. Mrs. Reid wasn’t here.

Food.

I should eat.

I grabbed three large cookies, poured a glass of juice and headed back. My gaze lingered at the entrance of the east wing. But it wasn’t his suite I cared about. He’d have weapons, right? Men like him always had weapons. My mind drifted back to London and Guild. There was a room in the house. One they kept locked. But there were other guns lying around. Ones they could get to in a hurry.

Those are what I needed.

Those are what I’d find.

I went back to my room, closed the door and waited. I tried to read but the words were a blur. Not even the Phantom could save me. I stared at the same page for an hour until there was a knock at the door.

Mrs. Reid slipped in, giving me a soft smile. “I missed you at breakfast time.”

I said nothing.

What could I say?

“Mhmm.” I looked down, staring at the same paragraph I had been for hours.

Mrs. Reid hovered, casting glances my way.

“Alaric. Is he in?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t notice the car before. Maybe he went out.”

I gave a slow nod and waited for her to leave. Her footsteps faded. Still I sat there, staring at the passage until I just couldn’t wait anymore. I placed the book beside me on the seat and rose. The wooden drawer snagged when I opened it. I reached inside and pulled out the dusty pink ribbon. A key hung from the end. I hadn’t touched it before. I touched it now.

I slipped out quietly, listening harder than breathing. But I didn’t leave. I turned, locked my door. Turned the handle. It held. Tried once more. Still… held. Then I slipped the key into my pocket and moved.

Twenty two steps to the staircase.

A floorboard creaked under my weight.

Left side. Too worn. Need to keep to the right.

I shifted.

Silence under my feet. The drag of my bad leg barely whispered against the floorboards.

Muted sunlight spilled through the towering window at my left. There were no curtains on these ones. Windows bare to the morning light. Exposed. I flinched. Swallowed. No cover. I crossed quickly.

A large ornate mirror hung on my right.