I do not know how long I sat in that armchair before I heard it. A low mechanical hum, coming from somewhere deep inside the house, from the study Nathan had always kept locked. I had assumed it was just his office. But the hum grew, and then a soft chime echoed through the dark hallway, and a screen I had never noticed lit up on the study wall. Nathan’s face appeared on it. Recorded. Calm. Alive in a way that made my breath catch and my hands fly to my mouth.

“Rosalind,” the recording said gently, “if you’re seeing this, it means the safety system triggered because no one deactivated it within twenty-four hours of my scheduled return.” He explained, in that careful voice of his, that he had installed a full monitoring and security system months earlier, one connected directly to emergency services, because he had been receiving threats he never told me about. Then his recorded voice changed. “There’s something in the basement I need you to know about. But first, whatever you do, do not open the front door for anyone until the police arrive. They’re already on their way.” That was the moment the pounding started at my front door, and a voice I did not recognize began shouting my husband’s name.