Chapter 3
A wave of pure, blinding panic crashed over Emma. The realization of what she was looking at—a child intentionally sealed inside the architecture of his own home—threatened to pull the air from her lungs. The sheer cruelty of it defied all logic.
"Ethan, I’m here. Emma’s here," she said, pressing her gloved hands against the iron grate, wishing she could reach through the metal to hold him.
She pushed against the vent, but it was solid, locked firmly into place by a concealed steel latch embedded deep within the woodwork. Her fingers scrabbled uselessly against the heavy iron. She needed leverage. She needed a tool.
Emma sprang to her feet. The silver tray she had been carrying slipped from her grasp, crashing onto the hardwood floor. The delicate crystal champagne flutes shattered into a hundred glittering pieces, the sharp noise echoing violently down the quiet corridor. She didn't care. Let them hear it. Let someone come.
Her frantic eyes locked onto the ornate marble fireplace at the far end of the hall. Resting on the hearth was a heavy, wrought-iron fire poker with a wicked, curved hook.
Emma sprinted down the runner, her flat shoes gripping the carpet. She snatched the heavy metal poker from its stand, the weight of it grounding her racing mind. She ran back to the hidden vent, dropping to her knees amid the shattered crystal glass.
She wedged the sharp hook of the fire poker into the tiny gap between the brick and the concealed latch mechanism. She threw her entire body weight against the iron rod, gritting her teeth as the metal groaned in resistance.
She threw a terrified glance over her shoulder, staring down the long, bright corridor toward the top of the main staircase. Anyone could walk up those stairs at any moment. The gala raged on below, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding directly above their heads.
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Emma looked back into the vent, meeting the terrified, exhausted eyes of the little boy. He was fading, his dusty fingers slipping from the grate.
"Ethan, keep talking—I’m getting you out," Emma ordered, her voice shaking with adrenaline, urgent but fiercely protective. She gripped the poker with both hands and pushed downward with every ounce of strength her body possessed.
