Victoria lunged for the silver key in Lily’s hand—then the little girl whispered, “She locked Mommy downstairs.”

Nathan had not descended them since he was a boy.

They smelled of damp plaster and old earth. Low iron sconces lined the walls, though only half still worked. The weak yellow bulbs made the descent feel more like entering a tomb than a cellar beneath one of the richest houses in the state.

Nathan carried Lily now.

She refused to let go of him.

Henry walked at his side with a flashlight taken from the service hall, while two security guards followed several steps behind. Victoria had been escorted to the library and told she would remain there until Nathan finished below. She had protested so violently one of the guards was still bleeding from a scratch across his jaw.

Mrs. Warren had stayed upstairs too, praying in the hallway.

The deeper they went, the colder the air became.

At the bottom of the steps stretched a corridor of old storage rooms and sealed wine vaults. Dust lay thick on the floor—except for one narrow strip where it had been disturbed, as if someone had walked this way more recently than the rest of the house had any right to suggest.

Henry shone the flashlight downward.

“Nathan.”

He saw it too.

Footprints.

More than one set.

Some larger. Some smaller.

And the smallest of all—barely there—could have belonged to a child.

Lily saw them and buried her face against Nathan’s shoulder.

“She brought me here one time,” she whispered.

Nathan’s heart slammed against his ribs. “Victoria?”

Lily nodded.

Henry swore softly.

Nathan kept walking.

The corridor ended at a heavy oak door reinforced with iron bands blackened by age. The Ashcroft crest was carved into the center. A brass keyhole sat beneath it, polished around the edge from recent use.

Nathan stopped inches away.

From the other side came the sound.

Knocking.

Three slow knocks.

Then silence.

The security guards looked at one another.

One of them, Turner, whispered, “Sir…”

Lily clutched Nathan’s collar hard enough to hurt.

“That isn’t Mommy,” she whispered.

Then a voice came through the door.

“Nathan?”

Every muscle in his body locked.

The voice was Eleanor’s.

Soft. Weak. Frightened.

“Nathan, please. Open the door.”

Henry’s face drained of color.

One of the guards took a sharp step backward.

Nathan stared at the wood as if he could see through it. “Eleanor?”

“Please,” the voice said again. “It’s dark.”

Lily began shaking.

“That’s the bad one,” she whimpered. “Mommy said it copies.”

Nathan turned halfway, pulling her tighter against him. “Copies what?”

“People.”

A scraping sound came from inside the room, followed by another knock—this time from lower down, closer to the floor.

Then another voice.

Not Eleanor’s.

A man’s voice, hoarse with fear.

“Don’t open it!”

The corridor went dead silent.

Henry stepped forward immediately. “Who’s in there?”

“Don’t let it speak again,” the man shouted. “Open the door, but don’t listen to it—”

A crash cut him off, followed by a shriek so inhuman one of the guards flinched and drew his sidearm without thinking.

Then silence returned.

Not normal silence.

Waiting silence.

Henry looked at Nathan. “We can’t leave whoever that is in there.”

Nathan nodded and set Lily down beside Turner. “Take her upstairs.”

“No!” Lily screamed, grabbing his leg.

“Lily, listen to me.” He crouched and forced calm into his voice. “You stay with Mr. Turner and go back to the top of the stairs. I am coming back for you.”

Her face crumpled. “Don’t let it say your name.”

Nathan touched her cheek. “I won’t.”

It was a promise he had no right to make, but he made it anyway.

Turner carried Lily back up the first flight while Nathan faced the door again.

He inserted the silver key.

It fit perfectly.

For a second, his hand froze on the brass.

Three years of lies.

Three years of grief.

Three years of believing Eleanor had walked out on their daughter.

If she was in there—if she had been in there all along—then he had failed her in a way that deserved no forgiveness.

And if she was not—