The glass chamber stood completely empty. Not disturbed, not broken. Just empty in the unnaturally clean way of something deliberately removed rather than escaped.
Sherry drifted closer, shoulders tense, and exhaled softly. Her breath bloomed in a faint fog against the thick pane before slowly dissolving. "Someone beat us here."
"Yeah," I murmured, the word barely leaving my lips.
I started circling the perimeter, boots scraping lightly over the polished floor. My gaze flicked across every seam, every joint. No pry marks. No scuffs. Not even a fingerprint smudge out of place.
"Could she have slipped out herself?" Sherry asked, her fingers curling at her sides.
"No." My voice came out flat.
Then the print caught my eye. A faint palm, small and delicate, pressed flat against the outside glass. Almost invisible until the light hit it just right.
"Sherry." I halted.
She crossed to me fast. I said nothing, just let her gaze land on it.
