« Did he say anything?
» « No. »
His gaze lingered on her for seconds that were far too long.
Then he went inside, picked up the device from the table—exactly where he’d left it—and smiled slightly.
“Careful, Clara. Sometimes, the truth hurts more than it protects.”
When the car disappeared again, Clara didn’t wait.
She went down to the basement.
The air was damp and heavy. The lamp flickered. The old bookcase leaned against the concrete wall, full of dusty boxes.
With effort, she pushed it aside.
Behind it, a small metal door.
The small metal door was cold to the touch.
Clara knelt before her.
There was an old keypad next to the lock.
Trembling hands.
She typed the sequence that was in the letter.
