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Whitaker gives him a dry look. “I was a little busy murdering William and fucking Verity.”

Despite myself, I almost laugh.

He turns back toward the room, his expression sharpening as he begins examining the walls. “But I spent my childhood in a house filled with secret passages. There are usually a few tells.”

He starts with the obvious places, running his palms along the seams between the marble panels, pressing against sections of stone that look no different from the others. He taps beneath the window, then moves to the columns, checking the grooves and decorative carvings. Remy joins him, searching the opposite wall while I stand back and watch.

Minutes pass without any progress, but Whitaker doesn't seem discouraged. He checks the base of one column, then another, running his fingertips over the stone as though he's reading something written there that the rest of us can't see.

“Try the tree,” I say.

He looks over his shoulder. “What?”

“The symbol. Maybe it's not just decoration.”

Whitaker returns to the carving above the window. He studies the roots again before stepping back. “Maybe.”

He reaches up and presses against one of the smaller branches. Nothing. He tries another. Still nothing.

Remy moves closer. “Could it be pressure?”

“Probably.” Whitaker begins testing the carving systematically, pushing different sections and watching for movement. He presses against the trunk, then the roots. When he reaches the lowest portion of the carving, his fingers pause. “Wait.” He leans closer. “There.”

Remy leans closer. “What?”

“A seam.”

I move beside him. At first I can't see it, but once he points it out, I notice a thin line running through the stone beneath the roots.

Whitaker pushes, but nothing happens.

Remy looks around the room. “Maybe there's another mechanism.”

Whitaker's eyes move across the walls. He crouches and runs his fingers along the floor near the wall. His hand disappears beneath a thick cluster of dust and debris, and when he pulls it free, there is a small metal ring hooked into the stone.

He looks up at me. “Found something.”

He wraps his fingers around it and pulls. There’s no reaction, but he adjusts his grip and pulls again.

Somewhere inside the wall, something clicks. All three of us freeze. Then the stone beneath the tree shifts. It moves so slowly at first that I wonder if I imagined it, but the panel begins sliding inward with a deep grinding sound that vibrates through the floor. Dust spills from the seams, raining down around us as an entire section of the wall retracts.

Behind it is darkness. Whitaker shines his phone light into the opening. A narrow staircase descends into the earth. The steps are old stone, worn smooth in the center from years of use, and they disappear into blackness beneath the mausoleum. I stare down into it, feeling something cold crawl beneath my skin. Arianette said the place she remembered was underground.

I look at Whitaker, and he looks back at Remy and me. None of us needs to say what we're thinking.

We found it.

Remy looks at me. “You still want us to leave?”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

I pull the gun from my waistband and check the chamber before sliding it back into place. Whitaker ducks through the opening first, followed by Remy. I go last, pulling the panel mostly closed behind us. The passage is barely wide enough for our shoulders. The walls are rough stone, nothing like the polished marble above us, and the ceiling hangs low enough that I have to duck in places. A thin layer of moisture coats the stones, making them shine beneath the light from our phones.

The corridor continues ahead of us, but the walls begin to change. The rough stone gives way to carved blocks, each one etched with the same tree-and-root symbol.

Then we see the door. It’s enormous.

Black wood reinforced with iron bands, with symbols carved across its surface.