The scream tore through the corridor like fabric ripping—high, sharp, human. Then another. Then silence.

Too much silence.

Donald May slammed his shoulder against the locked door so hard the frame shuddered.

“JEAN! JOSIE!”

No reply.

Riggs grabbed the handle, rattling it violently. “It’s bolted from the inside, sir—there’s no keyhole, no latch—”

“Stand back,” Don barked.

One more shoulder charge.
Nothing.

Pauline stepped forward, breath tight. “That’s the old nursery wing. The doors were reinforced in the 1930s—soundproofed. Fireproofed. The Grimshaw family used it during the Blitz.”

“That’s not helpful, Pauline,” Fizz snapped. “Unless you’ve got the or...

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