Inside was a small worn latch, a lever smooth from use.

I did not pull it yet.

This is the discipline that my work teaches you, and it is the opposite of what fear wants: when you have finally found the thing, you slow down.

I wanted to be certain I could restore the panel perfectly before the housekeeper returned, because a concealment discovered is only useful if the person who built it does not know it has been discovered.

So I pushed the panel back into place, listening for the soft click of the latch, and it fit seamlessly, leaving no trace of the opening at all.