Dorothy was instantly alert. She stood, head cocked toward the door. The sound didn’t come again, but it thundered through her memory, seeming much louder than it had been in real life. Slipping the journal pages into her cloak, she inched toward the door, rolling her feet from ball to heel so as not to make any noise on the creaky floorboards. She pressed her ear to the door, holding her breath.

Nothing.

Her heartbeat began to slow, but she knew she wasn’t the only one in New Seattle who knew how to move around without being heard. She lowered a hand to the doorknob, fingers curling around the cool brass.

She’d gotten to be a fair fighter over the last year. She was small and slight, but Roman had taught her how to use an opponent’s weight and mass against them. And then there was the dagger hidden in her cloak—she could be deadly with that. If there was only one person waiting for her on the other side of this door, she stood a good chance of getting away. If there were two people or even three, she figured she could still fight her way through them, as long as she took them off guard.

More than that, and . . .

Well, Dorothy thought, swallowing. It wouldn’t do her any good to think about that just now. She slipped one hand into her cloak pocket, fingers curling around Roman’s dagger. The weight of it comforted her. It was much heavier than the signature, deadly thin daggers she usually kept hidden up her sleeves. She’d lost those when she and Roman and Mac had gone to the future, but Roman’s dagger would work in a pinch. It was heavy, its blade thick. She could do some damage with it, if she needed to.

Holding her breath, she flung the door wide—

The hall was soaked in darkness. It played tricks on her. She stepped forward and, at the same time, something in the shadows twitched, sending her heart leaping into her throat. But it was just the window at the end of the hall reflecting her own movements. Nerves pricked the back of her neck.

There was no one here.

Dorothy turned in place, looking around the empty hall, the open doors and dark rooms. She tried to recall what she’d heard and found that she couldn’t quite remember what it sounded like. Perhaps it hadn’t been a footstep at all but merely the wind blowing against the window, or wood creaking as the old building settled and shifted on its foundation.

“Or, perhaps, I’m losing my mind,” she muttered under her breath. Quickly, she hurried back into Roman’s room and grabbed her duffel from the foot of his bed. She double-checked that the Professor’s journal pages were safely tucked up her sleeve and stepped back into the hall—