A technique I had learned long ago: bring the frightened mind back into the room.
“Five fingers holding mine.”
Her hand moved toward me beneath the blanket.
I continued until her breathing slowed.
Then something touched my palm.
A small object.
Sophia had pressed it into my hand.
It was a key.
Brass, old-fashioned, and cold from being hidden beneath her pillow.
A strip of faded blue thread was tied through the top.
I stared at it.
“Sophia…”
She shut her eyes.
I closed my fingers around the key.
For the first time since entering the estate, I wondered whether Juliana had expected me specifically to reach this room.
Not a caregiver.
Not a stranger.
Me.
I waited until Sophia slept before slipping the key into my pocket.
Nearly an hour passed before Lorenzo returned.
Dust marked the shoulder of his suit. Vincent followed, carrying a narrow wooden box.
“We found the nursery,” Lorenzo said.
“You lost it?”
“It was sealed during renovations.”
Vincent placed the box on the table.
“It had been built into the back of a wardrobe,” he explained. “The room was repainted after Mrs. Pellegrini’s death. Pale green. Before that, it was blue.”
Lorenzo’s gaze remained on me.
“The blue room.”
The box was simple, no larger than a book, with a brass lock.
My pulse quickened.
“Open it,” I said.
“We cannot.”
Lorenzo placed it in front of me.
The lock was old.
The keyhole narrow.
I felt the shape of the key in my pocket.
Sophia had known.
Or Juliana had prepared her to know.
Lorenzo noticed my hesitation.
“What is it?”
I looked toward Sophia.
She slept facing the window, one hand beneath her cheek.
I could keep the key hidden. Search the box alone. Follow Juliana’s warning exactly as I had understood it.
Do not trust appearances.
But every secret kept in this house had already cost too much.
I drew the key from my pocket.
Vincent inhaled sharply.
“Where did you get that?” Lorenzo asked.
“Sophia gave it to me.”
He looked at his daughter, then at the blue thread.
“Open it.”
The key turned with little resistance.
Inside the box lay three objects.
A silver locket.
A sealed envelope.
And a cassette tape.
For a moment, no one spoke.
The tape looked absurdly ordinary, the kind used in old answering machines. Across its label, Juliana had written one word.
HOME.
Lorenzo touched the handwriting with one finger.
His face tightened.
The envelope was addressed to Sophia.
The locket contained a photograph of Juliana as a young woman standing beside another woman I did not recognize. They resembled each other enough to be sisters, though the second woman’s face had been partially damaged by water.
Lorenzo took the photograph.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”