Roman slipped quietly through the front door.

The house was still…the kind of silence that carried weight. Even the clock ticking in the hallway sounded too loud. His tie hung loose around his neck, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion.

He stared at his watch. 11:58 pm. “Fuck!” He grunted.

He’d promised he wouldn’t stay late.

And yet here he was, breaking that promise like all the others.

He loosened his collar as he climbed the stairs, his footsteps soft against the marble. Every room he passed was dark.

Salima’s door — closed—Klara’s — quiet.

As he made his way to the east wing, his gaze lingered on the one door...