It started as a whisper in her mind.
The cabinet.
For hours after Damian had taken her to that cold, hidden room, Elena couldn’t stop thinking about it, the scratched metal, the way he’d shut down the question before it was fully out of her mouth.
By midnight, the whisper had turned into a drumbeat.
She slipped from the bed, careful not to wake him. The storm had moved on, leaving the house cloaked in a heavy stillness. Only the soft hum of the security system followed her as she padded barefoot down the hall.
The key was the first problem. She’d seen Damian use one earlier, a small silver one he kept on his keyring. That keyring now rested on the dresser in his room, just a few steps from his sleeping form.
Her breath caught as she slid the ring free, each tiny jingle feeling loude
