The house was unlocked.
That, more than anything, made Ethan pause.
It wasn't unusual, not entirely. The guards were outside, the system was in place, the routines of the house well established.
Still—Richard Montgomery did not leave things unattended.
Ethan stepped inside anyway.
The air felt… wrong.
Not disturbed. Not chaotic. Just missing something. The kind of quiet that wasn't restful but waiting.
He closed the door behind him without thinking, the soft click sounding louder than it should have.
"Hello?"
No answer.
He set his bag down on the console table, already moving toward the stairs. His mind was still on the certificates — top drawer, left side, under the old sketch folio. Quick. In and out.
The house remained silent.
Halfway up the stairs, something shifted.
A sound.
Not loud. Not clear. Something small and strained, like breath forced through clenched teeth.
Ethan stopped.
Listened.
There it was again.
Not upstairs.
Down.
He turned.
