The footsteps continued above them.
Slow.
Measured.
Unhurried.
Whoever was waiting for them wasn't afraid.
That was what frightened Camille the most.
Dante walked slightly ahead of her as they climbed the narrow staircase.
His shoulders were tense.
His attention moved constantly between the darkness above and the people behind them.
Camille stayed close.
Adrian followed with Margot.
Victor and Elena came last.
Nobody spoke.
Then they reached the top.
The hallway was dark except for a single lamp glowing at the far end.
A man stood beneath it.
Camille stopped.
For several seconds, she simply stared.
He was older than she had imagined.
Late sixties, perhaps.
Silver threaded through his dark hair.
Tall.
Straight-backed.
Expensively dressed.
His face carried a strange resemblance to her mother.
Not enough to recognize immediately.
But enough to make something deep inside Camille react.
His eyes were the same.
That was what unsettled her.
