She looked toward the bathroom. Padding lightly across the floor, she saw the way she’d left things. Close to the tub, just near the medicine cabinet, was a small patch of wet floor. She pursed her lips at this and then moved her eyes slowly to Sam’s room. He was a teenage boy, and apparently he’d found the fast social connections a couple of oxy could get you; that didn’t mean he knew anything was amiss in his own home. She doubted he’d paused long enough to study the bathroom.

She wondered if he knew anything was amiss with his family—specifically, his own birth. She thought again of his blog: A wolf knows when it’s being raised by bears. But how much did he really know? She found herself wandering back into Winnie and Nigel’s bedroom. Or, as of late, Winnie’s bedroom.

She stood over Winnie’s nightstand, thinking. Remembering the cryptic, depressing journals she’d read, she found herself reaching a gnarled hand toward the handle. She’d been innocently looking for nail clippers when she’d found those journals; she hadn’t even been trying to snoop. But now she had other things on her mind, more sinister things.

And there it was, predictably, in the bottom drawer of her nightstand: a fireproof lockbox. Juno lifted it from the drawer and placed it on her lap. A little key was still attached to the metal hinge of the box, secured by a plastic loop. She had no problem sliding the flimsy key into its equally flimsy lock. If this was the Crouches’ way of protecting their documents…

The lock clicked over, and she opened the lid.

Inside were three stacks of documents, two of them wrapped together with rubber bands. Juno picked those up first, unwrapping them with renewed speed. The shadows outside were shifting, the light in the bedroom turning from yellow to orange as the sun dipped into the park. She studied the shadows on the bedroom wall for a moment and then turned back to her task. She was nervous.