She dried her hands on a towel as she faced the room and considered her next move.

Someone had known there was something bad in the attic. Maybe her parents, or maybe someone from a generation or two back, had attached the bolt locks to the ceiling hatches.

That meant they had been living with the thing in the roof for years. Based on how old the bolts were, it had been at least a few decades. And they had survived it fine.

No. My parents didn’t.

She bared her teeth as she tried to squeeze down the blooming sense of panic in her chest. She pictured the stain in their ceiling, bubbling through the plaster and paint, right above their bed.

They’d survived there for decades, she reminded herself. Decades of living with that thing above them.

Margot could get through one more night. Especially if she was careful. Especially if she was cautious.

That would mean she’d have to return to her room for the night. Try to close her eyes. Try to forget about what was above her at least for a few hours.

But she’d be cautious. She had the axe now. She wouldn’t leave the house. She wouldn’t open any windows or doors. No more exploring; she would keep to the parts of the house she already knew well. That meant the kitchen and her bedroom and very little besides.

As long as she stayed careful, didn’t invite anything else inside, didn’t make herself vulnerable, she should be able to get through one more night.

Kant would be back by morning. And she would demand answers from him. Nora and Ray had danced around her questions, but Kant wouldn’t. Not if she pressed him.

And at least, if she understood her situation a little more, she might know what was best to do. She wouldn’t be staying at Gallows Hill—that much was already certain. But she needed to know whether to sell the business or shut it down entirely.

Margot pressed her palms into her burning eyes. The staff had seemed so nervous to meet her. So polite, so hopeful. Because they didn’t want to lose their jobs.

But why would any of them continue working at the winery once they knew what was happening?

Kant will be able to tell me. He’s been here for thirty years. He must understand the place better than anyone.

In the meantime…she had one final night to get through.

Margot dropped her hands. A multitude of small aches radiated across her. She tugged up the hem of her jeans and saw she’d scraped a layer of skin off her shin; minuscule drops of blood beaded across it.