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Tanaka board. Reddy's fear is that the illusion will be exposed before he can use it to his advantage and emerge holding the reins." He paused. "You can't tell your boss the full story. Just tell her that the Tanaka board divisions run deep and that Reddy represents the faction opposed to your proposal."

The music suddenly stopped and Hannah watched as Reddy pushed away from the bar and moved towards the exit. "He's leaving."

"Good," Rossi murmured. "He knows he's outmatched tonight." He turned his eyes to a group of scantily-clad dancers heading toward the stage. "Or perhaps he just doesn't like cabaret."

Hannah watched Reddy disappear into the foyer, her mind racing. The liquidity crisis was manufactured? Reddy had been playing a long game, sacrificing Tanaka's stability to seize power. Her solution threatened everything. "Clare needs something credible," she pressed. "If I tell her it's board infighting, she'll demand specifics."

Rossi's fingers traced the rim of his glass. "Then give her a name. Chen represents the faction opposing Reddy. Tell her Chen reached out privately, concerned about Reddy's aggressive opposition to his plans." His smile was razor-thin. "It's even true. Chen despises him."

Hannah absorbed this. Clare already knew that she'd been speaking to Chen, so the story was plausible. "So Reddy's faction wants chaos to force their coup. My solution prevents that chaos." She paused. "But why would the scarab beetle want Tanaka saved if it's this fractured?"

The dance troupe were ready, the stage lights brightened, the music swelled, and they began their performance. Rossi's gaze was fixed on the stage, caught in the dancers' spell, but he answered her nevertheless. "He's been quietly acquiring shares for years. It would be a shame to liquidate his position now."

Hannah's mind raced. The scarab beetle wasn't just intent on stabilizing Tanaka, he was positioning himself to profit from its recovery. Rossi had hinted as much earlier. But why involve her? Why the elaborate audition? The dancers twirled, their sequins catching the light like scattered coins, their bodies intertwining, separating, then finding one another again.

The audience looked on as the dancers moved in perfect synchronicity, their bodies flowing like liquid silver under the stage lights. Rossi watched them with detached fascination, but Hannah's thoughts churned. Her restructuring plan for Tanaka wasn't just a business solution, it was part of a battle for control of the company, a weapon to be used in a civil war.

She leaned closer to Rossi, who was still gazing at the stage, her voice barely audible over the music. "The scarab beetle - he's using my work to strengthen his position against Reddy's faction." It wasn't a question. The pieces had clicked into place - the urgency, the secrecy, the masked meeting. Her success with the demo today had made her indispensable to his plans.

The dance troupe took a bow to generous applause and Rossi finally turned from the stage, his eyes dark behind the panther mask. "You're the cavalry," he murmured. "Precise, unexpected. Reddy's faction assumed they were fighting ghosts. Now they hear the bugle and before long they'll see the sabre." He signaled a waiter for another drink, his movements languid. "But be careful. Cavalry charges can be beaten if the enemy has the right tactics against them."

Hannah's champagne had gone flat. She set the flute down. "What happens next?"

Rossi's attention lingered on the dancers exiting the stage. "The scarab will move quickly now - consolidate shares, pressure Reddy's allies." He turned to her, the mask casting deep shadows over his eyes. "Clare will push for the Keller bid. You'll need to deliver it flawlessly."

A waiter arrived to provide them with more drinks. Behind him a tall man climbed the steps to the stage, his suit dark, his mask also plain and dark, giving him the air of a figure who had no need for ornament. He didn't raise his hands or call for quiet - the quiet found him, settling over the room as though everyone knew instinctively that his words mattered.

He spoke in Italian and then repeated his words in English. "Thank you to our cabaret dancers, they delight us every time. But now - a tradition we hold dear - our guest opportunity spot. An open invitation to claim the stage for yourself and show us some dance moves of your own." He swept a hand toward one side of the stage, the spotlight following as if at his command.

A murmur coursed through the crowd, anticipation sparking like a fuse. Rossi glanced at Hannah and she tensed, returning his look. His expression was unreadable behind the panther mask, but his posture had sharpened, a coiled stillness replacing his earlier languor. She felt the weight of his scrutiny, the unspoken question hanging between them. "Would - she - dare?"

A woman in emerald silk had made her way forward, her heels clicking as she approached the steps. Heads turned, masks tilting as the audience murmured appreciation and curiosity. A ripple of eager whispers followed her, punctuated by soft claps, as if the room itself were leaning forward to see what would happen next.

The woman reached center stage and stood there a moment. Her mask was a delicate lattice of gold and green, and it caught the stage lights like stained glass. Then, with a flourish, the music surged again, and she began to move - slow, deliberate, mesmerizing. Hannah found herself leaning slightly forward, captivated by the rhythm, the precision, and the daring of someone commanding attention without a word.

The woman moved with effortless grace, with a confident sway of her hips and her arms carving through the air like brushstrokes. She wasn't as slick as the professional dancers, but she still owned the stage and the crowd gave her their full attention, following her every move.

Eventually her movements slowed to a stop and she stood center stage, turning around to face away from the audience. Her hands moved behind her and came to rest on the zipper of her dress. Hannah felt the collective intake of breath around her. The woman's zipper slid down a fraction, revealing a sliver of pale skin. A slight gasp ran around the room. Then the zipper came down further, exposing more skin. Hannah glanced sideways at Rossi. He was leaning forward, his gaze fixed on the stage, his expression unreadable behind the panther mask.

The zipper stopped halfway down the woman's back. She then continued her dance, gliding around the stage again, before returning to center stage, turning away from the audience once more. Now the zipper came down further, slowly but surely. Hannah watched, transfixed, as the fabric parted to reveal the woman's entire back and the audience held its breath.

The woman's hands moved to the straps of her dress. Hannah watched, mesmerized, as the silk pooled around the dancer's ankles, leaving her clad only in shimmering lingerie beneath the spotlight. There was a burst of applause from the crowd, a wave of admiration and appreciation washing over the room. Hannah glanced at Rossi again and found him still fixed on the performance.

The woman on stage stepped back into her dance, the lingerie catching the light with every fluid twist. Eventually she struck her final pose and then took a bow in her bra and panties, a triumphant smile on her face. She gathered her dress and exited to thunderous applause. Rossi leaned back slowly, his intense focus on the stage now over, his fingers drumming on the tablecloth. "What daring," he murmured, almost to himself. "The rarest currency here."

The stage wasn't empty for long, as the host reappeared, automatically hushing the audience. Again he spoke in Italian and then in English. "The floor remains open," he announced. "Any guest who feels bold enough," he said, gesturing toward the crowd, "tonight is your night."

Rossi's fingers stilled their drumming. He turned his head slowly, the panther mask making his gaze inscrutable as it locked onto Hannah. "You've proven you can play with sharks," he murmured, his voice low and intimate despite the surrounding buzz. "And I congratulate you on your successful demo today. A job done very nicely. But can you command a room?" The challenge hung in the air, sharp as broken glass. He didn't gesture toward the stage. He didn't need to. The implication was clear - this was another test, one she hadn't anticipated.

Hannah's heart hammered against her ribs. The woman's daring display hadn't just been entertainment, it was a gauntlet thrown. To refuse would brand her cautious, predictable - secretary material. To accept meant stepping into the spotlight, vulnerable and exposed, under the gaze of predators like Rossi and whoever else watched from the shadows. She thought of Clare's skepticism, Reddy's haunted look, the scarab beetle's hidden agenda. This wasn't just about dancing, it was about owning her newfound power, proving she wasn't just riding the current but could create her own waves.

Rossi's expectant silence was heavier than any command. Hannah stood abruptly, the scrape of her chair loud in the sudden lull. Heads turned, masks tilting as she walked toward the stage, her silver half-mask feeling flimsy armor against the collective scrutiny. The host's eyes widened slightly as she ascended the steps, the polished wood cool beneath her heels. The spotlight hit her like a physical force, blinding and hot. For a heartbeat, she froze, the vast, expectant darkness beyond the light swallowing her resolve.

Then she thought of Clare's dismissive stare, Reddy's panicked retreat, the scarab beetle's cold assessment. This was her arena now and she was ready to perform in it. She raised her chin, a deliberate, defiant motion. The audience murmured beneath her, a ripple of curiosity reaching all corners of the room.

She waited patiently and the music began - a slow, sultry beat that pulsed through the floorboards. She didn't mimic the previous dancer's overt sensuality. Instead, she moved with a controlled intensity, each step deliberate, each turn sharp. She channeled the tension of the Tanaka boardroom, the calculated risk of her demo, the hidden currents Rossi had revealed. Her movements weren't seduction, they were declaration. "Watch me. I am not hiding."

The spotlight followed her like a loyal hound as she pivoted near the stage edge. Her gaze swept the masked faces below - predatory lions, watchful owls, inscrutable serpents. She imagined Rossi's assessing stare, the scarab beetle's hidden scrutiny. This wasn't just dancing, it was a statement in motion. "I belong here." Her arms cut through the air, not in invitation, but in challenge.

The music swelled, strings layering over the primal drumbeat. She spun, her simple black dress flaring enough to reveal more of her legs than would normally be seen. A deliberate unveiling. Murmurs of appreciation rippled through the crowd. She met them with a sharper turn, chin high, dress flaring even more. Let them see the cost of this game.

Her movements weren't fluid grace, they were strategy. A calculated pivot towards the side where Rossi sat, her eyes locking onto the shadowed slits of his panther mask. She held the gaze for a breath, two, projecting defiance. You wanted a show? Here it is.

Then she broke away, moving with sudden, unexpected speed towards the center, her steps echoing the high-stakes gamble she'd taken with Tanaka. She wasn't just dancing; she was replaying her ascent - the bold moves, the whispered secrets, the cold thrill of outmaneuvering Clare and Reddy.

The music shifted, strings rising in tension. Hannah slowed, facing the audience fully. Her hands lifted, not in seduction, but in a deliberate, controlled gesture that swept from her shoulders down to her hips. It was an unveiling of intent, not flesh. She held the pose, letting the silence stretch, feeling the weight of every hidden gaze. This was her boardroom now.

A bead of sweat traced her spine beneath the black dress. She channeled it into the next movement - a sharp pivot, heel striking the stage like a gavel. Her gaze swept the room again, lingering on the shadows where owls and serpents lurked. "See me", the turn demanded. "See what you underestimated". The fabric whispered against her thighs as she arched backward, a calculated risk, trusting her balance as she'd trusted Alex's last-minute data. For a heartbeat, she was suspended, exposed. Then she snapped upright, chin high.

The music deepened, strings weaving tension through the drums. Hannah moved with deliberate precision toward stage left, where Rossi's panther mask gleamed in the dimness. She stopped abruptly at the edge, looking down directly into the shadowed eye-slits. Her hand rose, not in invitation, but in a slow, slicing motion through the air - a blade between them. The message was clear - I am not your puppet. A murmur traveled through the crowd. Rossi didn't move, but she felt the intensity of his stillness.

She spun away, the fabric of her dress whipping around her legs. Back at center stage, she dropped low, one knee grazing the wood, her body coiled like a spring. The spotlight pinned her there. In that suspended moment, she wasn't Hannah the secretary or even the rising player. She was the catalyst - the one who'd exposed Tanaka's rot and Reddy's betrayal. The music pulsed, waiting. She rose slowly, unfolding limb by limb, a deliberate unfurling of resolve. Her eyes scanned the darkness beyond the light, imagining the scarab beetle's hidden gaze. "This is what you bought", her posture declared. "Use it wisely".

The final notes began to fade. Hannah didn't end with a flourish or a bow. She simply stopped, rooted to the spot, shoulders squared, facing the abyss of masks. Silence crashed down, thick and heavy. For three heartbeats, nothing moved. Then applause erupted - not the thunderous roar for the emerald dancer, but something sharper, more deliberate. A recognition. Hannah dipped her head once, a crisp, minimal acknowledgment, and descended the steps.

Rossi was waiting at the bottom, a fresh champagne flute extended. "Impressive," he said, the word clipped. "Less silk, more steel. They felt it." His gaze swept over her, lingering on the flush high on her cheeks, the controlled rise and fall of her chest. "After the demo, your second striking performance of the day."

Hannah took the glass, her fingers steady despite the adrenaline still humming through her veins. She didn't sip. "And Keller? The deadline?" The dance was over; the game resumed.

Rossi's chuckle was low, predatory. He guided her back to their booth and then leaned in, his voice a blade against her ear. "Our Swiss friend is expecting to hear from you tomorrow. You have everything you need to provide him with a detailed proposal. Maria needs to make her pitch too, so he has all his options on the table. He's still holding a good cash offer from the scarab, but you and the scarab are on the same side now, fighting for the same cause. So long as the scarab is sure you're in his corner, he'll withdraw from the Keller deal and leave the road open for you. The opportunity will be yours to take, although the scarab beetle requires one more... demonstration of commitment."

Hannah's knuckles whitened around the flute. "What kind?"

Rossi's gaze drifted toward a curtained alcove at the far end of the hall. "A private audience. With the owl from your demo." He paused, letting the implication settle. "He represents a bloc of undecided Tanaka shareholders. Your restructuring plan pleases him, but he questions your... stamina for the battles ahead. He needs convincing you're more than a one-night strategist."

Hannah's throat tightened. The owl's mask had been impassive during her presentation, his silence more unnerving than Reddy's hostility. "And how does he wish to be convinced?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

Rossi's smile was a thin curve in the dim light. "Through discourse. Strategy laid bare. But discourse here..." He gestured vaguely at the murmuring crowd, "...is rarely just talk. Be prepared." He helped her to her feet and placed a hand on her lower back, steering her firmly toward the alcove. The silk curtain felt heavy as she pushed it aside.

The owl-masked figure sat alone at a small, circular table, a half-empty glass of amber liquid before him. His mask was intricate - feathered contours, eyes like polished obsidian. He didn't rise as Hannah approached. "Miss Hartwell," he greeted, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that carried an unexpected warmth. "Your dance was... instructive. As was your Tanaka model." He gestured to the empty chair opposite. "Please sit down."

Hannah obeyed, the velvet cushion sighing beneath her. The alcove muffled the club's noise, making the owl's words unnervingly intimate, although she was pleased that his voice was no longer being distorted. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Rossi says you're the architect of Tanaka's salvation. Yet I wonder - do you understand the cost of the house you're building?"

She met his obsidian gaze, refusing to blink. "I understand Reddy's faction planned to bleed it dry. My model stops that hemorrhage."

The owl's mask tilted slightly. "A stopgap. Tanaka's fractures run deeper than liquidity. The board is..." He swirled his drink, ice clinking. "...a nest of vipers with different poisons. Your plan requires unified execution from people who'd rather slit each other's throats." He leaned closer, the feather detailing on his mask catching the alcove's low light. "How does a junior consultant command warlords?"

Hannah didn't flinch. "By proving their greed aligns with my strategy. Chen's faction wants stability to protect their dividends. I offer that. Reddy's allies are scrambling; I expose their weakness." She mirrored his posture, elbows on the table, invading his space. "You represent the swing votes - the ones watching, waiting. I showed you the path to profit. Now tell me what you need to walk it."

The owl emitted a soft, rasping sound - almost a laugh. "Clarity. Not of spreadsheets, but of - you. Why does a woman who danced like a blade in the dark bury herself in Clare Buchanan's shadow?" His masked face tilted. "Ambition? Loyalty? Or something... mysterious?"

Hannah felt under interrogation but stayed entirely calm. "Survival," she stated flatly. "And leverage. Clare's shadow was a cage. Tanaka is the key." She paused, letting the silence stretch. "You saw my model. You know it works. What you question is whether I work. Whether I break under pressure." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper sharp enough to cut glass. "Reddy broke today. Clare will break tomorrow when she learns that Keller is mine. Who breaks next depends on who stands against me."

The owl's obsidian gaze didn't waver. "Confident words. Yet confidence is cheap here." He tapped a long finger against his glass. "Your restructure requires the board to cede control to an external operator - you. Men like Chen tolerate outsiders only when they're indispensable... or feared." He paused deliberately. "Reddy feared Shirley Lewisohn. She understood... persuasion."

Hannah's spine stiffened. Shirley again! The ghost haunting every step of her ascent. "Shirley's methods failed. Tanaka is still fractured."

The owl's gravelly voice softened, almost conversational. "Her methods secured loyalty. Reddy's panic today? That was Shirley's groundwork unraveling. She knew which strings to pull." He lifted his glass, the ice catching the dim light. "You dismantled Reddy's scheme with numbers. Impressive. But numbers don't command vipers. They need to feel your teeth."

Hannah kept her hands flat on the velvet tablecloth, steady. "Teeth require leverage. I have Tanaka's future prosperity."

"I'd call it survival rather than prosperity." The owl's chuckle rasped like sandpaper. "Survival is temporary. Control is permanent." He leaned back, shadows deepening the hollows of his mask. "Let's cut to the chase. Shirley Lewisohn secured promises from three board members to support Chen's group. When she vanished, those promises became meaningless, like footprints on the beach washed away by the tide." He paused, letting the implication hang. "I want you to recover them."

Hannah's heart hammered against her ribs. Shirley secured promises - hidden leverage she'd never uncovered. "How?"

"Through the channels Shirley cultivated." His finger traced the rim of his glass. "One is from Zurich. The others are based in Singapore itself. They respond to... familiarity. Shirley's methods." His obsidian gaze pinned her. "The board member from Zurich's here tonight. Rossi will introduce you. We need his promise of support and time is of the essence. We have to move quickly now."

The implication hung thick. Shirley's methods meant more than charm. They meant crossing lines and Hannah knew which lines. She understood the owl's unspoken challenge: "Prove you can do some heavy lifting."

"He's here tonight," Hannah repeated, her voice stripped bare. It wasn't a question. The owl merely inclined his feathered head, a silent dismissal. As she pushed back the heavy curtain, the club's noise rushed in - laughter, clinking glasses, the thrum of ambition. It felt suddenly hollow.

Rossi materialized beside her, his gaze unreadable behind the panther mask. He guided her back to their booth.

"I hope that meeting went well," he said.

Hannah slid into the booth, the velvet cool against her bare arms. "He wants me to do Shirley's job. Recover Tanaka board votes."

Rossi's fingers drummed the table. "The Zurich contact is here, as I'm sure you've been told. Klaus Steiner. He's known as a serious art collector. He also collects Renaissance manuscripts and is regarded as quite an authority on them."

Hannah scanned the crowd. "Where is he?"

"You can't see him from here. He's in a booth on the far side of the room. When you're ready, I'll introduce you."

Hannah's knuckles whitened on the table's edge. She knew a gauntlet had been thrown and reality bit cold. This wasn't strategy, it was espionage. Shirley hadn't just charmed; she'd been a secret agent.

"What do I need to know about Steiner? Beyond the manuscripts."

"He's a banker as well as a Tanaka director. It's no surprise that he's here tonight, as he's a regular here." Rossi sipped his drink. "He loves the stage performances and no doubt saw your dance earlier."

Hannah's throat tightened. She remembered Steiner's name from Tanaka's board roster - conservative, Swiss, impeccably connected. "What's his weakness? Besides manuscripts?"

Rossi's smile was a blade in the dim light. "Shirley must have been a weakness."

The words landed like stones. Hannah remembered Clare's tight-lipped warnings about Shirley's methods - the hushed rumors of champagne-fueled evenings that secured signatures on dotted lines. Shirley hadn't collected manuscripts, she'd collected vulnerabilities.

"What about the other two directors I'm supposed to secure votes from? They're both in Singapore, so how am I expected to handle them?"

Rossi leaned closer, his voice dropping. "One problem at a time. Steiner's the linchpin. Get him, and the others may fall in line." He studied her face. "You understand what the owl expects? Shirley didn't win votes with spreadsheets."

Hannah met his gaze. "I know that very well and I know what the owl wants. Leverage. Secrets. Favors." The words tasted bitter. Shirley's shadow loomed large - the whispered rumors of locked hotel rooms and compromising photographs suddenly felt less like gossip and more like a blueprint. Hannah pushed her untouched drink aside. "Introduce me."

Rossi led her through the pulsing crowd, past masked faces and swirling silks, the air thick with sandalwood and expensive perfume. "There's one more thing you need to know. Steiner's something of an outlier on the Tanaka board, in that he isn't aligned with any of the warring factions." He lowered his voice. "You'll find him... particular." His tone held a grim finality.

Hannah didn't ask what "particular" meant. She had a good enough idea already and would find out the exact details for herself. Shirley's shadow wasn't just ambition, it was coercion, secrets traded in the dark. Hannah felt the weight of the owl's challenge: could she stomach it?

"If he's an outlier, what makes you think the two Singapore directors would fall in line with him?" Hannah pressed.

"Because they aren't connected to the warring factions either," Rossi countered. "And Steiner may be an outlier, but that doesn't mean he's without influence."

"At every turn this Tanaka story gets more complex," Hannah replied. "Every time I hear the word Tanaka there's something new. It's become quite a saga. I can't imagine what version of events I'm going to give to Clare."

In the far corner of the room, close to the colonnade, Rossi stopped near a secluded booth draped in crimson velvet. He looked at Hannah and she gave a brief nod.

The booth held three men. The oldest of them sat center in a simple domino mask, his face sharp and angular under the club's low light. His silver hair was combed back, his eyes sharp and watchful above a neatly trimmed silver beard. He wore a charcoal suit, impeccably tailored, and nursed a crystal tumbler of whiskey. Two much younger associates flanked him, the three of them seemingly engrossed in lively conversation.

They glanced up as Rossi and Hannah approached, their conversation halting, their expressions registering neither surprise nor welcome. Rossi paused at the entrance to the booth a moment and the two younger men got up and left. As they made their way out, Hannah looked at the remaining occupant of the booth, clearly Klaus Steiner and an older man than she had expected.

"Klaus," Rossi announced smoothly, his hand pressing lightly against Hannah's lower back. "Allow me to introduce Hannah Hartwell. She's been navigating Tanaka's restructuring."

"Ms. Hartwell," Steiner said, his gaze lingering longer than courtesy required. "The numbers woman talking to Chen." His voice was clipped, Swiss-German precision cutting through the club's murmur. He offered his hand, his smile faint and deliberate. "Rossi's introductions are rarely casual. I find myself wondering - am I meant to admire your company, or your strategy?"

Hannah took his hand, her grip firm. "Strategy, Mr. Steiner. Tanaka's future depends on it." She slid into the booth's crimson upholstery without waiting for an invitation, her movements echoing the controlled intensity of her dance. Rossi melted into the shadows, a silent sentinel.

"Tanaka's future," Steiner repeated. "A precarious concept. Shirley Lewisohn spoke similarly, yet her plans dissolved with her departure." He leaned forward, the domino mask emphasizing the sharp lines of his cheekbones. "Why should your blueprint succeed where hers failed?"

Hannah mirrored his posture, elbows on the table. "Because mine exposes the rot instead of papering over it. Shirley managed symptoms. I'm excising the disease." She kept her voice low, deliberate. "Reddy's liquidity trap, Chen's passive complicity - if you've seen the model. It doesn't just stabilize Tanaka; it makes it dominant. Profitable for everyone who backs it."

Steiner swirled his whiskey, ice clinking like a ticking clock. "Dominance requires unity. The infighting in the boardroom is worse than you imagine. The cliques prevent any progress."

"Which is why your vote is crucial," Hannah countered, leaning closer. The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the whiskey's smoky bite. "You're one of the few who aren't entangled in their factions. You can tip the scales toward sanity."

"Sanity's a matter of perspective." Steiner's eyes drifted to a swirl of masked figures on the dance floor. "What I require is knowing you'll follow through with this. I don't want to be left washed up on the beach. high and dry. Shirley understood that. She offered... assurance."

Hannah's stomach clenched. Assurance. Shirley's methods laid bare. She forced her voice to remain steady, low. "What form did her assurance take?"

Steiner's eyes lingered on her, a trace too long for comfort. "The form of understanding. That if you want something you've got to give something in return."

Hannah held his glacial stare, refusing to blink. The air thickened with unspoken transactions. "I understand the stakes. Tanaka's survival hinges on neutralizing Reddy. My plan does that. Your support ensures it happens." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a husky murmur that cut through the booth's velvet isolation. "What do you require to guarantee that support?"

"Guarantee is a big word," he said softly, fingers tapping the edge of his tumbler. "I don't bind myself to words spoken in public. Let's go somewhere quieter, where you can show me you're more than a business proposal. Let me see the woman behind the model. If I like what I see, I'll give you what you want."

Hannah's pulse quickened. This was the moment Shirley would have seized - the unspoken exchange in the shadows. She rose without hesitation, her movements fluid, deliberate. "Lead the way."

Steiner guided her through a concealed door behind the crimson drapes, down a narrow corridor lit by sconces casting long, dancing shadows. The air grew cooler, the club's noise fading to a distant hum. He stopped before an unmarked oak door, unlocking it with a heavy brass key. He pushed it open and stepped inside, holding the door open for Hannah to follow him.

Hannah stepped through the doorway without hesitation, her pulse calm, her breath even. Whatever awaited her in this hidden room, she had already decided she would meet it head-on. She was ready.

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