POV: Ethan
Clara caught me before I’d finished my first coffee, which meant it was bad.
“Amelia’s studio,” she said. “Someone was inside it. Last night, probably, or early this morning.”
I set the cup down. “Tell me.”
“No forced entry. Nothing taken. But there were fibers near the sketchbox, dark wool, doesn’t match anything else in the room. Whoever it was searched carefully and put everything back exactly where they found it.” She let that sit a second.
“This wasn’t a burglar, Ethan. Burglars take things. This was someone looking for something specific enough that they were willing to risk getting caught just to check.”
I felt the floor shift slightly under a morning that had started ordinarily.
“They were in the house,” I said. “Not the office. The house.”
“The house,” Clara co
