Only the hallway sconces glimmered, and their light was feeble, as if hesitant to disturb the silence. The chandelier above the foyer remained dark. No footsteps tapped across the imported marble floors. Even the ticking of the antique clock seemed quieter than usual. Preston paused, one hand still holding the doorknob. The quiet pressed against his ears in a way that made his heartbeat sound enormous.
“Hello?” he called, forcing his voice to steady. “Is anyone here? Nora? James? Anyone?”
His words floated into the emptiness and vanished before they could echo.
Preston entered the mansion and set his keys on the side table. The air felt colder than it should have. He lifted his wrist to check the time and frowned. The twins should have been awake. Their bedtime routine always started with a story by the fireplace while their nanny, Annalise Corbyn, brushed their hair and prepared their pajamas.