Harlow dragged me through hallways I hadn't seen before, past rooms I couldn't identify, and down a staircase that seemed to exist in a pocket dimension separate from the rest of the manor. Her grip on my wrist never loosened.
"Where are we going?"
"The Archive!"
"That sounds ominous."
"It's not ominous, it's AMAZING!"
We rounded another corner. Then another. I was fairly certain we'd passed that same disapproving portrait three times now, which meant either we were going in circles or the Valentine ancestors had a thing for identical stern expressions.
Finally, Harlow stopped in front of a set of double doors that looked more like the entrance to a bank vault than a storage closet. She pressed her thumb against a hidden panel, and something inside clicked.
"Security on a closet?"
"It's not just a closet." She pushed the doors open with both hands. "It's THE closet."
I stepped inside.
My brain short-circuited.
