THE HOUSE OF GLASS AND WHISPERS: WHY DID CLARA LOCK THE DOOR THAT NIGHT?

The steel staircase felt infinitely longer on the way up, each metallic clank of Julian’s boots echoing like a gunshot through the hollow shaft. He pushed open a heavy fire door at the top of the stairs, stepping quietly into the dimly lit corridor of the mansion’s ground floor. The storm outside had only intensified, the thunder rattling the reinforced windows with terrifying concussive force.

Julian crept down the mahogany-paneled hallway, keeping close to the shadows until he reached the heavy double doors of Beatrice’s study. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of warm amber light spilling out onto the polished hardwood floor. He gripped the iron wrench tighter in his sweat-slicked palm, positioning himself beside the doorframe.

Inside the study, Beatrice’s voice carried clearly through the gap.

"I don't care how you do it, seal the perimeter and cut the power to the sub-level immediately," Beatrice was saying into her secure comms device, her tone devoid of any warmth or hesitation.

Julian didn't wait for her to finish her call. He kicked the heavy mahogany door wide open, sending it crashing against the interior wall with a deafening bang.

Beatrice spun around instantly, her silver-plated revolver leveling toward the doorway with terrifying speed. But Julian was faster; he lunged across the room, driving his shoulder straight into her chest and tackling her hard against the cherry-wood desk. The revolver flew out of her hand, skittering across the Persian rug and sliding underneath a heavy leather armchair.

Beatrice gasped for air as Julian pinned her against the edge of the desk, his fingers gripping her collar tightly.

"It’s over, Beatrice," Julian growled, his face inches from hers, his dark eyes burning with fury. "Enter the override code for the sub-level right now, or so help me god—"

Beatrice didn't scream, and she didn't cry. Instead, a cold, mocking smile crept across her lips, even as she struggled against his grip.

"You think stopping the purge saves you, Julian?" Beatrice whispered hoarsely, her voice dripping with venom. "You still don't know why Emily had to die, do you?"

Julian’s grip tightened. "Tell me."

"It wasn't a disease," Beatrice laughed softly, blood welling slightly from her lip where she had hit the desk. "It was an awakening. And Sophie has already taken the first breath."