Chapter 6
Later that evening, the mansion settled into a heavy, oppressive quiet as midnight approached. Clara tiptoed quietly up the grand sweeping staircase, her soft-soled shoes making no sound against the thick Persian runner.
She slipped into the second-floor nursery where Noah lay sleeping fitfully in his twin bed. A nightlight cast a soft amber glow across the room, illuminating the tear tracks still glistening on the boy's cheeks.
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Clara pulled the quilt higher over his shoulders, whispering a gentle lullaby until his breathing grew deep and steady. But as she turned to leave, she noticed a small drawing clutched tightly in Noah's sleeping hand.
She carefully peeled his tiny fingers back, sliding the folded sheet of paper from his grasp. Unfolding it under the dim light, she gasped softly at the crude crayon drawing depicting a tall woman in green pushing a red door shut.
