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He slides the key into the lock, turning thoughtful. “Smart woman. Too smart to hand something over without knowing exactly where it’ll lead.”

The lock clicks.

But when he pushes the door, it doesn’t budge.

Theo frowns and tries again, this time with more force. The door groans against the frame, stiff and reluctant, like something is wedged underneath.

He mutters a curse under his breath.

I lean in, examining the frame. There’s damage along the edge. Subtle, but there.

We exchange a look. “This door’s been tampered with.”

I think back to what Evelyn said.

No one else had a key.

Except Victoria. And now Victoria is dead.

My mind whirls.

What the hell was she looking for?

What the hell did she find?

Something someone might consider worth killing for?

Theo presses his shoulder against the door and shoves harder.

With a final, protesting groan, it swings open.

Dust swirls in the air, illuminated by the sliver of light from the hallway. The room inside is cold, still. Dark, despite the fact that it’s barely midday, the thick, drawn curtains blocking out all the outside light.

Theo steps inside first. I follow, my pulse thrumming against the base of my throat.

Whatever Victoria was looking for, someone else was looking for it too. Or maybe they just wanted to know what she was up to?

We snoop around for a long while. The only sounds in the library are the distant ticking of a grandfather clock and the occasional creak of the old floorboards beneath us.

Theo is thumbing through a stack of aging documents, his face contorted in concentration. He looks unfairly good like this—sleeves still rolled up, a thoughtful crease between his brows that I have come to find is permanent.

But I’m more distracted by the chill seeping into my fingers, making them stiff as I try to turn the delicate pages without accidentally obliterating a crucial piece of evidence.

My hands are always cold thanks to some crappy circulation issue or some other medical thing I’ve never bothered to look into. The atmosphere in the Mayfair archives is doing me no favors. Despite being on the main floor, it has the thick, cold air of a cellar. My fingertips have started to turn a stark shade of white. It’s uncomfortable, but nothing I can’t ignore for the most part.

I’m flipping through a stack of brittle, decaying pages when Theo breaks the silence. “You’re going to tear those if you keep mauling them like that.”

I shoot him a glare over the top of a crumbling document. “I’m being careful.”

“You’re manhandling them.”

I’d like to be manhandled.

I huff, setting the page down with exaggerated delicacy, then throw my hands up. “Happy now?”

He shakes his head as he leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Not particularly. You’re vibrating with impatience. If you combust and set the archives on fire, not only will Evelyn have my head, it will have a rather large negative impact on our research.”

I am vibrating, but it’s more so anxiety from the lingering wave of grief that threatened to bowl me over this morning. And because I’m fucking cold.