The knock came again, this time accompanied by a voice that cut through the fog of my anxiety like a beacon.
"Hon, open up! This tray is heavy, and my arms are about to fall off!" Liz's familiar tone carried a mix of humor and exasperation, grounding me instantly.
I blinked, my heart lurching at the sound of her voice. "Liz?" I called out, my throat still dry and hoarse.
"Who else would be crazy enough to lug a feast up all these stairs for you? Come on, Abby. Open the door before I drop everything!"
Relief flooded through me as I scrambled to unlock the door. Liz stood there, framed in the dim hallway light, her arms precariously balancing a massive tray laden with containers that emitted tantalizing smells. Her hair was windswept, and she wore an oversized sweater that looked as if she'd thrown it on in a rush. She looked utterly out of place in the mansion's grandeur, yet exactly what I needed.
