I hurried down to the second floor and had one foot on the main stairs before I realized I wasn’t alone. My entire body froze—heart and lungs and internal organs all suspended in time—as I registered that Lawrence Wellington was walking up the stairs with another man. A man with a gnarled scar stretching from his left temple to the corner of his mouth and frigid eyes so light blue, they looked bionic. A hailstorm of questions rained down in my mind. Why was he here? Who was the scarred man? Were they going for the girl? Had they seen that I’d come from the wrong direction? Even if they hadn’t,
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