“Alistair? Where did you go, dear? The house isn’t safe to wander alone,” Ilya called back from downstairs, louder now, more anxious.
Alistair crept to the writer’s door and listened. The brush of the door against the tip of her frozen ear felt like a knife. She couldn’t hear anything behind the door except for the wind and the pecking of the typewriter.
“Alistair!” Ilya called from below. She was closer now, at the bottom of the stairs or already on her way up, calling in a panicked, hissing whisper. “You didn’t go upstairs, did you?”
Alistair tried the doorknob again, it turned, but the door was locked. Quickened footsteps on the creaking steps echoed up the stairwell. Ilya was coming quickly, feverishly calling Alistair’s name. Alistair looked through the glass of the watch, trying t
