The driver pulled into the long, curved driveway of our home just as the sun began to dip lower in the sky. 

Harold parked at the front entrance. Before he could reach my door, I pushed it open myself. I thanked him quietly, to which he only nodded, his face unreadable, and then I walked toward the front doors.

I stepped into the grand foyer. Then a voice cut through. 

“Where the hell have you been?” 

I turned sharply toward the staircase. 

Ace stood halfway down, his hand ...