The road rolled beneath the car accusingly, making her feel every bump and crevice in the road as another missed opportunity to stop his plan, to stop her plan, to stop everything, run away, live in the woods by herself where nothing could ever get to her again. The only thing that prevented that was her family, and her promise to protect them. Though as the minutes ticked past, she felt more and more unable to fulfill said promise. "It's easy," he had told her, "Nothing to it at all." If only he knew the treachery he provoked with his words. Would he then try to kill her in return? She felt he might actually be proud of her plan, if a bit miffed at the fact that it was directed at him. She was finally becoming what he had always hoped.

They parked the car in some shady alleyway, a mile or so off from the house. She looked up at him, not speaking. He opened the door, beckoning her to follow behind him into a errily unclean bar. She took his arm without thinking, wanting his daunting presence to make her feel safe, or at least safer. None of the patrons paid them mind as they slipped through, making her feel somewhat ridiculous in the way she clung to him, but her closeness had the added benefit of feeding his ego so that he didn't notice her hand slipping into the pocket of his coat, pickpocketing the keys. Her head was rushed with blood. It was here, it had begun. He approached the bar with her trailing after him. A gruff looking man, wiping a glass clean in his hand, came up at the other side to meet them.

"What will it be?"

"A dry martini for the lady, sugar on the rim."

The man nodded, his expression unchanging, "Right this way."

He led them into the back, out of the sight of the other patrons, before opening a small door which appeared to lead to the basement. Olaf nodded to him.

"Much obliged." Smirking, he turned to glance at Violet. "Ladies first?"

"I think I'll let you take this one." Her voice was a whisper. He nodded, looking back down the stairs.

"Fair enough. Stay close."

The stairs deposited them about twenty feet down, unfurling into a narrow tunnel. A short set of stairs seemed to lead straight into the ceiling. He pulled open a swinging door on the ceiling. Of course there was a secret passage within the secret passage. Before them were a series of tunnels, dimly lit with interspersed buzzing electric lights, place just barely close enough to keep visitors guessing what may lie fifty feet ahead. She didn't release his arm, grateful for his presence, and horrified at the prospect of walking this tunnel alone. He started forward.

She had no idea how long they walked for-it could have been minutes, it could have been ages. Her only sense of time came from the metranohm of her pounding heartbeat rattling in her ears. She was certain he must be able to feel it. Still, he said nothing. Eventually, the tunnel ended in a second staircase, an identical bookend to the first. He disengaged her from his arm, climbing up the stairs slowly. Gently, he pushed up a trapdoor, opening into more darkness. She stared up, sure she was looking at a starless sky, and then the smell of dampness hit her, wafting down gently.

She climbed up the stairs, taking his hand for support at the end, looking about the cellar they had arrived in. It was dark, pitch black, the only light coming from the top of the stairs in front of them, creeping under the door. He didn't look back, or, if he did she couldn't tell. At any rate, he began to ascend the stairs, with her trailing closely behind.

The house looked so much larger in the night, so much more grandiose, like it was leering down upon them, disappointed in her. She felt her heart thrum in her throat. She could do it. She would do it. He was speaking but she had no idea what he was saying. Roughly, he elbowed her, trying to gain her attention.

"Yes, of course, sorry." She rubbed at the spot he had bumped her. He looked down at her exasperatedly.

"I was asking you if you were having second thoughts."

"Oh, then I mean no, no I'm fine."

He hummed a note in disbelief but did not press her any further. She looked around at the interior of the mansion. There was so much glass to it. So much wood. He snapped softly, bringing her attention back to him again, sharply.

"I said, where's the library?"

She felt her blank stare, her emotions rushing out of her, like rats abandoning the sinking ship. "Towards the back, this way." He followed close behind her, never more than a few inches away. Her bones turned to ice. She was steel now. She could do it. She would do it. Quietly, she pulled open the doors, once again greeted by the welcoming scent of all the books. She almost felt worse for that part of it, as if out of all the betrayals she was about to undertake, the burning of books was the worst of it. She strode over to the table, moving to shift the tabletop up.

"Help me lift this." He strode over, unimpressed at such a disastrous hiding place. As he had suspected, the sublibrary was protected by a vernacularly fastened door. He watched as she punched in the codes, feeling his excitement mount with every click. With a groaning sigh, the safe swung open, revealing a wealth of information. He smiled, gleeful, before turning to grab her, kissing her heartily. Greedily, he grabbed at everything he could, trying to build a stack of all the papers in there.

"Hang on, we can't possibly carry all of this."

"Whatever we don't carry is lost." He looked over at her. She did have a point though; there seemed to be an awful lot, and he would hate to leave something important behind. "Here," he skimmed through the papers quickly, handing her a few roughly. "Take anything that seems like a list. We'll need those."

She glanced over at the papers in her hands, clearly not comprehending what they said. He should have taught her how to read them. No matter, he would make it work. He shoved more papers at her. "Here, take these." She took them from his hands, adjusting them into a pile.

"So it's… good?"

He stared down at the loose papers in his hands, skimming over them, "You have no idea."

"Well you know this isn't all of it, right?"

He looked up at her, startled. "Pardon?"

She hesitated, gesturing over her shoulder. "There's more, a second safe that they've kept secret."

He could feel his face glowing, beaming with pride, "Why you little minx! I knew you were a natural. Where did they hide it?" He glanced around the room, trying to pinpoint the second hiding spot.

"It's not in the library."

He frowned, "Not in the library? What do you mean 'not in the library?' These idiots hide everything in their infernal libraries."

"It's hidden, back where we came."

"Alright, I'm following you." They gathered up the papers and then headed out, snaking through the hallways once more. He knew she'd be a prodigy-she took to crime like a fish did to swimming.

She walked down the hallways, towards the back rooms, him following close behind. The stairs were situated near the entrance parlor; the meant the bedrooms would probably rest on the south side of the house, further away. Hesitantly, she opened the door to a room a hallway off from where they had began, gesturing him in. He practically ran in, eager, but stopped short when he realized he was standing in a pantry.

"Where is it?" He turned to look at her, his clever wife, but then there was a crack against his temple and the taste of blood.