"So you've seen it before."

"No."

"You looked at it."

"I looked at a glove."

"Then why did you stop breathing?"

Vanessa's expression hardened.

"You don't know anything about me."

"That's the problem, isn't it? Nobody knows anything about anybody in this house."

A sound came from somewhere behind the shelves.

All four of them froze.

Julian raised one hand.

He moved slowly toward the far wall, where a narrow panel had been fitted between two cabinets. The panel was not part of the original construction. Its edges were too clean, its wood too new.

He pressed against it.

Nothing happened.

Then Margaret stepped forward and touched a small brass fitting near the floor.

The panel clicked.

Behind it lay a narrow staircase descending into darkness.

Elena stared at the opening.

"What is that?"

Margaret's voice was barely audible.

"The old wine cellar."

Julian looked at her sharply.

"I thought it had been sealed."

"It was."

"Then why is it open?"

Margaret did not answer.

From somewhere below them came a sound so faint that Elena almost mistook it for the pipes.

Three knocks.

A pause.

Then three more.

Julian descended first, using his phone's flashlight to illuminate the stone steps. Elena followed with Noah, while Margaret and Vanessa remained close behind.

The cellar was colder than the rooms above. Dust clung to the stone walls, and the air carried the mineral smell of damp earth. Old wine racks lined the left side. At the far end, beneath a rusted ventilation grate, stood a wooden chair.

A man sat in it with his wrists tied to the arms.

Adrian.

His head lifted when the light reached him.

"Elena?"

She ran to him.

For one breathless moment, she could only stare. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, and a dark bruise marked his cheek, but he was conscious. Relief surged through her so violently that she had to steady herself against the chair.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'll live."

"Who did this?"

Adrian looked past her.

His gaze settled on Vanessa.

She stood halfway down the stairs, her face colorless.

"Vanessa," he said.

She did not move.

"Tell me you didn't do this."

Her lips parted.

Nothing came out.

Julian cut the restraints with a small knife from his pocket. Adrian rubbed his wrists and stood, swaying slightly before Elena caught his arm.

He looked at her.

"You found me."

"We heard you knocking."

"I was beginning to think nobody would."

The bitterness in his voice disappeared almost immediately, replaced by something that made Elena's throat tighten.

He looked exhausted. Not merely tired, but emptied by the realization that the people closest to him had known how to reach him because they had helped build the prison in which he had spent his life.

She wanted to touch his face, but she stopped herself.

Instead, she held out the cuff link.

"You dropped this."

He stared at it.

Then he laughed softly.

"You came looking for me and brought back my jewelry."

"I thought you'd want it."

"I do."

He closed his fingers around it.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Julian turned toward Vanessa.

"Who brought him down here?"

Vanessa shook her head.

"I didn't."

"Who?"

"I didn't see anyone."

Adrian looked at her.

"Then why were you afraid when Elena found the glove?"

Vanessa's eyes filled.

"Because I know who wears them."

The cellar seemed to grow colder.

Julian stepped closer.

"Name."

She pressed her hands against her chest.

"I can't."

Adrian's expression changed.

"You can. You simply don't want to."

"You don't understand."

"Then make me understand."

Vanessa looked at him with a desperation that had nothing to do with self-preservation.

"If I tell you, you'll lose everything."

Adrian glanced toward the staircase, toward the mansion above them, toward the rooms where he had spent his childhood believing that money and blood could protect a person from the worst things the world had to offer.

"I think that happened a long time ago."

Vanessa began to cry.

But before she could answer, a phone rang.

Not Adrian's.

Not Julian's.

The sound came from the darkness behind the wine racks.

They turned.

A small, old-fashioned mobile phone lay on the floor, its screen glowing. It rang again, then stopped.

A message appeared.

ELENA RUIZ. COME ALONE IF YOU WANT TO FIND YOUR SISTER.

Elena felt every muscle in her body tighten.

Below the message was an address.

And beneath it, a photograph.

Sofia stood outside a brick building, her face turned toward the camera. She looked older than Elena remembered, thinner around the cheeks, with a streak of gray in her dark hair. But she was unmistakably alive.

Elena touched the screen with a trembling finger.

"Sofia."

Adrian moved beside her.

"Don't go alone."

"I have to."

"No."

The word came so sharply that she looked at him.

He drew a breath, struggling to control the anger that had risen in him.

"That's exactly what they want. They took me to make us afraid. Now they're using your sister to make you do something reckless."

"You don't know what they want."

"Neither do you."

"She's been missing for six years."

"And she's still missing now. A photograph doesn't tell us whether she's safe."

Elena's eyes burned.

"She's my sister."

"I know."

"No, you don't."

He fell silent.

She hated herself for saying it, because she had seen enough of his pain to know he understood more than she wanted to admit. But the thought of Sofia somewhere in the dark, perhaps waiting for a familiar face, was unbearable.

Elena had spent years imagining the moment she would see her sister again. In some versions, Sofia returned to the apartment with a ridiculous excuse and a bag of groceries. In others, she appeared at their mother's grave and apologized for missing the funeral. Sometimes Elena dreamed she was still nineteen, standing in the doorway while Sofia tied her shoes and promised to call.

She had never imagined finding her through a threat.

Julian studied the photograph.

"The building is on Mercer Street."

"You know it?" Adrian asked.

"I used to own an office nearby."

"Used to?"

Julian looked at him.

"There are a lot of things I used to own."

Adrian absorbed that in silence.

Elena put the phone in her pocket.

"We're going."

"All of us," Julian said.

Vanessa shook her head.

"They'll be watching the house."

"Then they'll see us leave," Julian replied. "I would rather have them watching the wrong people than standing here waiting for the next message."

Margaret moved toward the stairs.

"There's another way out."

Everyone turned.

She looked at Elena.

"Your mother showed it to me years ago."

The words seemed to alter the air around them.

Elena stared at her.

"My mother?"

Margaret nodded.

"She said the house had too many doors for anyone to believe there was only one way to leave it."

They followed her through a narrow corridor behind the cellar, then up a staircase that emerged in an unused laundry room near the rear of the mansion. The door opened onto a covered walkway leading to the garage.

Rain struck the roof in a steady roar.