The hallway was quiet—too quiet.
I pressed my back to the cool wall, the stone biting into my spine like a warning. The flickering candlelight cast long, swaying shadows over the corridor as I clutched the folded map I’d stolen from Collins’ office. Every line had been etched into my brain, every turn memorized.
Tonight was the night.
I glanced down at my feet. No heels. Just the soft, stolen slippers I’d hidden under my bed for weeks. My pulse thrummed in my throat. Dan was waiting in the old laundry chamber—just beneath the west wing, where the walls crumbled and the guards barely patrolled.
I moved silently, feeling every inch of the cold tile beneath me, pausing whenever I heard the soft rustle of the mansion sleeping. Renae’s wing was far off, and Vincent—he was most likely broodi
