He grins. “Maybe that’s where Cam got his information, then. What do you think, Beatrix? Does your dad have a hotline to Santa?”

Beatrix doesn’t respond.

The second he turns back to the shelves, I decide, is the best time to strike, and with the marble bust. The gun is too far but the bust is right there, on the table between us, and it’s plenty heavy, the base square and sharp enough to crack a skull. A good whack would take any man down, but there’s ten feet, maybe less, between us. I’d have to be fast, my attack stealthy and silent. I don’t know if I can clear the space fast enough.

“You know, if I were going to hide a nanny cam in this room, I’d put it in something nobody ever really notices. One of the ceiling speakers, for example.” He tips his head and studies them, his gaze bouncing between the four mesh circles flush to the plaster. “Those look legit. If there’s a camera in there, all I gotta say is bravo. That fire alarm, however...”

He comes closer, climbing up on the coffee table to get a better look.

My blood runs cold, an icy chill that starts at the back of my neck and creeps down my back like an invisible finger.

Sebastian reaches up, knocks the alarm with a gloved knuckle. “There are better models on the market, you know. This one looks cheap, and you know what’s weird? It doesn’t match any of the others you’ve got in the house. The one out in the hallway, for example, is a whole different brand. How do you explain that?”

He knows.

The words boom in my head like from a megaphone, loud and terrifying. This little tour around the room, the battle between the chairs...it’s all part of his evil game. I was delusional to think he wouldn’t know about the cameras. Maybe he’s known about them all along.

How many more minutes until Cam gets here—Ten? Eight? An eternity, when every second feels volatile.

“And why ten past five?” he says, gesturing to the dummy clock. He hops off the table and crosses the room to the shelves, comparing the time to a cheap watch underneath a sleeve. The time is off by almost two hours. “Why not ten past three, or four, or six? Why five?”

Because it’s the no-snack zone. It’s what I told the installer when he asked the same thing. A time of day the kids know not to bother me for a rumbling belly. The answer will always be no.

I say nothing.

“Hey, you know what else is weird? When the kids and I were watching cartoons earlier, I noticed one of the wall speakers wasn’t working.” He points with a long arm. “Must have a short or something.”