The thirteenth tread was indeed a tiny trap door. Though the shag carpet had given her hope that perhaps the journal wasn’t missing after all, she’d been sad to see an actual hinge at the back of the step when she removed it. Sure it would make it easier to open now, but it meant that the journal had probably been found in the seventies when the new runner was installed. She tried lifting it, but it was stuck. She had just begun to pry her knife under the tread when she sensed someone on the back porch. Fighting panic, she tried to use her newfound senses. Her ears told her only that someone was there. Her nose told her that the scent was… familiar. Maybe it was Mei or Addison, just covering their bases, or trying to help her since it was taking so long. Bianca hurried in her work. The knife slipped, and she cut her thumb.
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