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"Lily!" The cry echoed, making her heart clench with fear. It sounded like Thomas was indeed hurt.
"Coming!" Lily called out, adrenaline spiking as she bolted towards the stairs. Her mind rushed with the possibility that her husband had been drinking again. It had had happened once before, and she was now worried that he had banged his head or broken a leg.
Each step creaked beneath her feet, and each noise was an unwelcome companion. Her hands trembled as she gripped the banister at the bottom of another flight of stairs, forcing herself to climb despite every instinct screaming at her to flee.
"Thomas, where are you!?" She yelled, her voice cracking with panic. There was no response, only the sinister hum that seemed to mock her terror.
Lily hesitated outside an unassuming wooden door, feeling a sense of foreboding that chilled her to the bone. It was the library where Thomas had been spending an increasing amount of time. From behind it, the howl was at its most ferocious. Swallowing hard, she mustered up the courage to push it open. Immediately, she felt the icy coldness of the winter in that room, and she finally saw that another window was open, and the wind howled and pushed through it like a hungry predator.
But the howl was the least of her concerns.
Lily's eyes widened as they fell upon a horrifying sight – a dead man sprawled on the floor in a pool of crimson.
"Dear God, no!" she whimpered, her legs nearly buckling under the weight of her despair. With trembling hands, she reached out and touched the lifeless face. The cold, clammy skin confirmed her worst nightmare – it was her husband. It was her dear Thomas.
"T... Thomas!" she stammered, tears streaming down her cheeks as she choked out a scream of agony. Her vision blurred, but not enough to miss the shadow that suddenly burst from the corner of the room.
"Who's there?" she demanded, her voice wavering with fear. She squinted, trying to make out the figure holding something heavy, but the darkness obscured any identifying features.
"Help!" she shouted, raising her hands to defend herself. She turned towards the door. But it was in vain – the attacker lunged forward, bringing the object crashing down onto her head with an unnerving crunch.
Is this it?Lily's thoughts raced as she felt her skull crack under the assault. The pain was excruciating, yet all she could think about was who would save Thomas if he was still alive. And then, darkness swallowed her whole, and she slumped lifelessly to the ground.
The castle fell still once more, but for the strange howl, which continued to push through the open window in mocking laughter.
CHAPTER ONE
Finn Wright studied the hotel register in the dimly lit lobby with disquiet. He was not his usual jovial self. The stakes were too high for that.
The lobby was adorned with muted colors, tasteful furniture, and soft lighting that cast long shadows across the polished marble floors. The faint, what should have been soothing, sounds of a violin concerto played in the background.
Despite it being very early morning, the winter outside remained gloomy and only threatening daylight. His eyes traced over the cursive letters in the register, forming a name he knew all too well.
"Is everything alright, sir?" asked the receptionist, her voice crisp but tinged with concern.
"Uh, yes, thank you," Finn replied, forcing a smile. But as his gaze remained fixated on the signature, he knew things were far from okay.
It had been weeks since he had begun tracking Max Vilne, an escaped serial killer from the US who had somehow managed to elude him until now. Finn had put Vilne away once before. Going against orders, Finn had gone into a hotel alone to rescue one of Vilne's hostages. This confrontation nearly took the hotel with it, and although Finn rescued the hostage in the end and arrested Vilne, the hotel suffered millions of dollars worth of damage. This combined with his defying of orders, resulted in Finn's suspension from the FBI. Those events had brought Finn's professional life crumbling down, and if it weren't for a stroke of luck during a struggle, he knew that he wouldn't have made it out of there alive.
Vilne was a genius serial killer whom Finn hoped he'd never encounter again.
But somehow he had escaped and come to the UK, most likely for revenge. How he had made it that far across the Atlantic was still a mystery and a deep concern for the British Home Office, which Finn now worked with as a consultant detective.
Finn had studied Max's handwriting so thoroughly that he would never forget it. But the worry was that Vilne should have known that. Finn feared that Vilne had refused any attempt to cover up his handwriting, and that could only mean more danger than ever.
He stepped away from the reception desk, discreetly snapping a photo of the register page with his cell phone. He withdrew to a quiet corner near a potted fern and dialed Rob, his friend and Chief Inspector with the Hertfordshire Constabulary.
"Rob, it's Finn," he said, his voice low and urgent. "I've found Max Vilne. I'm sure of it."
"Where are you?" Rob asked, his tone instantly serious.
"Staying at a hotel in Croftwake. He signed the register not two hours ago."
"Finn, please,” Rob said with concern. “That's not that far from the Constabulary building. Wait for Amelia and backup. Don't do anything rash. It's too dangerous."
"Can't afford to wait, Rob," Finn replied, his jaw set in determination. “If he gets away because I didn't do anything, then the next death is on me.”
As much as he respected Rob and appreciated the camaraderie they shared, he couldn't let this opportunity slip through his fingers. The thought of Max causing more pain and suffering fueled his resolve. "I have to end this now."
