Dr. Crane nodded. “Very good.”

Julian leaned over Adrian. “Rest, cousin. You were always better at silence.”

Adrian did not move, but his eyes burned beneath closed lids.

That afternoon, I went to the music room. It was a cathedral of polished wood and winter light, with a black grand piano facing tall windows over the lake. I lifted the lower panel and found the silver recorder taped inside exactly where Adrian had promised.

Before I could stand, a voice came from behind me.

“You should leave that where it is.”

Mrs. Bell, the housekeeper, stood in the doorway. She had worked at Blackthorne House for thirty-two years and wore her gray hair in a severe knot.

I waited for her to call security. Instead, she closed the door.

“Julian knows you are searching,” she whispered. “He never left the east wing this morning.”

“Why warn me?”

Her face tightened. “Because I watched Adrian become a prisoner in his own body.”

A slow clap sounded from the corridor.

Julian stepped into the room.

“Touching,” he said.

Mrs. Bell went pale. Julian’s eyes settled on the recorder in my hand.

“Give it to me, Claire.”

I ran.

The Walls That Had Eyes

Julian followed me through the west corridor, not shouting and not rushing, simply walking fast enough to remind me he believed escape was impossible. The recorder would not turn on.

At the top of the service stairs, I pried open the battery compartment and found no battery, only a black memory card.

“That card belongs to me,” Julian said behind me.

His polite mask was gone.

I ripped a brass wall sconce from its bracket and threw it. The corridor went dark in a shower of sparks, and I pressed my hand against the panel Adrian’s letter had described. The wall opened.

I slipped inside and pulled it shut seconds before Julian reached me. Behind the walls, his footsteps passed within inches.

I moved through the darkness until voices stopped me. Through a narrow viewing slit, I saw Dr. Crane speaking with Mrs. Bell in the lower hallway.

“You should have stayed loyal,” he told her.

Mrs. Bell lifted her chin. “Loyalty to whom?”

“To the family.”

“No,” she said. “To the people who control it.”

He grabbed her wrist. I nearly stepped out, but another voice came from behind him.

“Let her go.”

Julian.

Dr. Crane released her immediately.

So Julian did not merely work with the doctor. He commanded him.

I continued through the passage until it opened behind Adrian’s fireplace. I stumbled into his room, breathless, with the memory card clenched in my fist.

“I found it,” I whispered. “I have the card.”

Adrian’s eyes opened. He struggled to speak.

“Not… Julian.”

“I know. Crane too.”

He shook his head. With enormous effort, he reached for the notepad beside the bed. His fingers could barely hold the pen, but he forced one word onto the page.

MOTHER.

I stared at him. “Your mother is dead.”

The bedroom door opened.

Julian entered with Dr. Crane, and between them stood the woman from the portrait.

Adrian’s mother.

Alive.

Lenora Blackthorne wore silver silk, pearls at her throat, and a smile so gentle it felt more dangerous than rage.

“My poor boy,” she said.

Adrian’s face changed. Not surprise.

Terror.

Julian had never been the master of Blackthorne House.

He was only her weapon.

The Woman in the Portrait

Lenora crossed the room and touched Adrian’s cheek. He recoiled as far as his weakened body allowed.

“You always were dramatic,” she whispered.

I closed my fist around the memory card. Lenora looked at me.

“The card, Mrs. Blackthorne.”

“It has already been copied.”

Her smile deepened. “Brave enough to be inconvenient.”

Adrian’s eyes shifted toward the mantel. I followed his gaze and saw a tiny red light blinking behind a bronze clock.

A transmitter.

The recorder had been a decoy.

I lunged for it.

Lenora’s voice sharpened. “Julian.”

He moved toward me, but before he reached the mantel, the bedroom doors burst open and four men in dark suits entered. For one second, I thought help had arrived.

Then the first man bowed to Lenora.

“The transmission was intercepted, madam.”

My hope collapsed.

Lenora glanced at me. “You see? This is why mothers worry.”

Adrian’s hand brushed mine beneath the blanket. Something cold pressed into my palm.

A silver key.

One word was engraved along its shaft.

CRYPT.

For the first time, fear touched Lenora’s face. Then a dull knocking rose from somewhere far beneath the mansion.

Three slow blows.

A pause.

Then three more.

Everyone heard it. Lenora turned toward the floor.

Adrian closed his eyes.

And smiled.

The Crypt Beneath Blackthorne House

Mrs. Bell helped us escape through the service passage before dawn. She had sedated the guard outside Adrian’s room with tea strong enough to stop a horse, then brought a wheelchair, blankets, and a revolver she kept hidden behind the linen cupboard.