THE DOOR THAT SHOULD NEVER BE OPEN
Mrs. Higgins, the estate manager, never shut off the exterior lights before sunrise. Marina, the live-in housekeeper, always left the kitchen light glowing in case he arrived late.
Tonight, the windows were black, empty voids.
Alexander checked his watch. 11:15 PM. Late—but not late enough for the place to feel abandoned.
He headed to the side entrance leading into the mudroom and kitchen, reaching for his key—
and froze.
The door stood slightly open.
A narrow slit of darkness separated the frame from the heavy oak. Snow had drifted into the foyer and remained unmelted, meaning the door had been open for some time. Mrs. Higgins treated security like doctrine.
He pushed the door wider. “Mrs. Higgins? Marina?”
His voice vanished into a silence that wasn’t restful. It felt tense—like something waiting.
He stepped inside. Snow crunched beneath his Italian leather boots. The alarm stayed silent. The keypad by the door was dark—dead.
“Marina?” he called again, louder.
Nothing answered.
