I can see the front door.
Heavy wood. Probably locked.
But maybe not.
I start down the stairs.
One step at a time.
Testing each one for creaks.
They're solid. Well-made. Silent.
Everything in this house is expensive. Perfect. Designed to last forever.
Designed to keep people in.
I reach the bottom of the stairs.
The front door is fifteen feet away.
I can see it. Can almost feel the cold night air on my face.
Just fifteen feet.
I take a step.
"Going somewhere?"
I freeze.
The voice comes from my left.
From a room I didn't notice.
An open doorway spilling warm light into the foyer.
Vaughn.
Of course it's Vaughn.
He steps into the doorway.
Still wearing the suit from the auction, though he's lost the jacket.
Shirtsleeves rolled up. Tie gone. Glass of something amber in his hand.
He looks relaxed. Amused.
Like he was waiting for this.
"The door's locked," he says. "Biometric scanner. Only responds to my thumbprint and Callum's."
Callum. The British man from the car.
"But you're welcome to try," Vaughn continues. He takes a sip of his drink. "I'm curious to see how long it takes you to give up."
Anger flares hot in my chest.
