But I stayed behind the desk for a moment and looked up, scanning the darkened edges of the museum. Light from the street filtered in through the front windows, and the emergency exit signs still glowed red. I couldn’t see Lena at the edge of the atrium, on the broad staircase, or in the shadows of the overhead galleries.

“Come out. I’m here,” I shouted, and the echoes insisted here, here, here.

“Not the way the game is played,” Lena answered, but I still couldn’t pinpoint her whereabouts. Maybe above me? She was definitely watching. Then I thought of the security monitors. Had she disabled those too? I had to take the chance. The security office was across from the bathroom, and I sprinted toward it.

“Cooler,” Lena’s voice urged, and then I stepped on something large and uneven and flew sprawling. A crumpled mass, a human form. I crawled closer and saw a security guard, not Jared, an older man with his hand outstretched and his hat lying next to him. I took his wrist, feeling for a pulse. His skin was warm, and I thought I felt a flutter against my fingertips, but I wasn’t sure. His face was in shadow, but I could tell his eyes were closed.

“Hello,” I whispered. As my eyes adjusted, it seemed the shadows around him grew deeper. I put a tentative hand to the side of his head and felt something sticky matted in his hair. I jerked back, and my knee hit something hard. A darkened flashlight. I picked it up but didn’t turn it on, clenching it like a handrail for stability.

“Quit fucking around and get your ass up here, Kacy,” Lena called, and then there was a long scream, echoing through the rooms. Aimee.

I slipped off my cardigan and pressed it tightly against the man’s head. I didn’t know if he was alive. But I knew Aimee was. For now.

I took the stairs in huge leaps, my feet slapping against the polished marble, the flashlight a comforting weight in my hand. There were three galleries up here, fronted by a balcony that overlooked the first floor. As I reached the top of the stairs, Lena shouted, “Warmer.”

I darted into the closest gallery, filled with statues constructed of something brittle and light. I grazed one, and it moved with a brushy sound like ash blowing across pottery.

I heard the sound of scuffling feet behind me, and I paused. Each of the three pathways connected at the back and opened out onto the same balcony. Lena could have been ahead of me, entered the central gallery, and now be behind me again. As long as she was moving, she wasn’t enacting horrible torments on Aimee. And the scuffling—surely that was the sound of more than one person’s feet.