Police officers went pounding down the stairwell toward the lobby.

And for a moment we believed the danger was somewhere else in the building.

But Victor had not gone to the lobby.

He came through the bathroom that connected my room to the empty one next door, and he came with a hunting knife, and he crossed the room and took hold of my shoulder and put the flat of the cold blade against my throat before anyone could move.

“You have always been so painfully naive, Clara,” he said against my ear, in that same calm voice from the intercom.