The sound echoed through the telephone, heavy, definitive, as if something had crossed a point of no return inside that house that I knew so well.
I tried to breathe, but the air seemed to get trapped in my throat, as if even my body hesitated to go on.
—Marcus… —I whispered again, barely recognizing my own voice—. Please… say something.
There was a creaking sound, then hurried footsteps, and finally his breathing, low but steady, returned to the other end of the line.
“I’m inside,” he said. “The door was locked.”
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