Chapter 3 - THE CELLAR DOORThree days passed. The manor was quiet, save for the scratching. Every night, the dog—who I named Ghost—would lie outside my door, staring down the hallway toward the cellar stairs.
On the fourth night, I couldn't take it anymore. I took my cleaning bucket, pretending to check the hallway, and crept toward the cellar entrance.
The door was heavy, reinforced with steel bars. But it wasn't the steel that caught my eye. It was the pattern on the lock. It was a document conservation seal, the kind used to protect papyrus from the 14th century.
I reached out, my fingers tracing the grooves. As soon as I touched the cold metal, my blood went cold. The air pressure in the hallway shifted, sucking the breath out of my lungs.
"You shouldn't be here, Miss Whitmore."
I spun around. Vane was standing in the shadows, his silhouette stretching down the corridor.
"I was just... checking the seals," I said, my voice trembling.
"You weren't checking them," Vane said, walking closer. "You were reading them. You have your mother’s hands, Clara. But you have her curiosity, too. That’s what killed her, you know."
May you like
My heart stopped. "What did you say?"
Vane leaned in, his tea-colored eyes reflecting the dim sconce light. "Your mother didn't die of cancer. She died of a containment breach. And if you aren't careful, you'll be the next piece of evidence I have to lock away."
