Chapter 3 - Footprints in Ash
Julian rose to his feet, his mind calculating variables faster than his emotions could register the horror. He pulled a locked drawer open beneath his oak desk, withdrawing a sleek Sig Sauer 9mm. He racked the slide once—a sharp, mechanical click that brought a strange sort of clarity to the room.
""Stay here, Lily,"" he commanded gently, pressing a panic pendant around her neck. ""If the door opens and it isn't me, you press this red button and you run into the vault. Do you remember how to lock it?""
Lily clutched the pendant and nodded once, her hazel eyes impossibly wide.
Julian locked the reinforced door behind him, stepping back out into the quiet grandeur of the upper hallway. The house felt alien now, filled with predatory shadows. The polished floorboards of the third-floor landing creaked softly beneath his weight as he climbed the spiral staircase. The temperature noticeably dropped; the central heating seemed to fail entirely on this level.
The nursery door stood ajar by a mere inch. A faint, sickeningly sweet scent drifted out—the heavy smell of jasmine and formaldehyde. Clara’s favorite perfume, mixed with the stench of preservation.
Julian raised the firearm, pushing the heavy wooden door open with his foot.
The room was bathed in pale morning light filtering through tall French doors. The rocking chair that had been moving on the monitor was now completely still. But on the floor beneath it, a trail of white, powdery residue led toward the heavy velvet drapes flanking the balcony.
Julian crouched down, touching the powder. Ash. Fine, grey bone ash.
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Before he could stand, a shadow blocked the light from the French doors. A tall, gaunt man stood outside on the balcony, dressed in a ragged woolen coat, his face obscured by a dark scarf. In his gloved hands, he held a framed photograph of Clara holding a newborn baby.
""You should have stayed in Switzerland, Julian,"" the man rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves scraped over concrete.
