Kaya's eyes locked on the box as Veer handed it over. At first glance, it was laughably ordinary—just a plain, square wooden box with no carvings, no metal clasps, nothing to set it apart. Yet the moment her fingers brushed its surface, she felt a subtle resistance, like the wood itself was alive.
She turned it in her hands, squinting under the sunlight. Nothing. No shimmer, no secret engravings, no faint glow like she half expected. She pressed her nails along the seams, searching for a keyhole, a hidden latch, even the faintest bump that might serve as a button. Nothing.
Her patience thinned. Kaya lifted her gaze to Veer, her tone sharp.
"How do you open it?"
Veer only shrugged, too casually. "How would I know?"
Kaya's eyes narrowed. "Isn't this made by your mother?"
That finally got a reaction—his lips twitched into the faintest, humorless smile, and he leaned against the wall as though this was all a joke to him.
