Emma hardly slept. The letter from her grandmother stayed in her mind, whispering through the quiet hours. She turned from side to side in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the words until morning came. When the first light touched the curtains, she knew she couldn't ignore it any longer. She had to find out what her grandmother meant.
The hidden room felt different in daylight. Dust drifted lazily through the air, glowing in the pale sun. Emma's eyes landed on the wooden box she had noticed before but never opened. This time she didn't hesitate.
Inside was a small folded map. It showed the mansion and the land around it, drawn in careful lines. A few spots were circled in red ink. One mark stood out—it was in the mansion's garden, right near the old rose bushes.
Emma stepped outside, the morning air cool against her face. Dew clung to the grass, soaking the tips of her shoes. The garden was wild, the rose bushes tall and tangled, their thorns reaching out like claws. She pushed through, ignoring the scratches, and felt something hard beneath her fingers.
It was metal, buried just under the soil. She dug with her hands until she pulled out a rusted tin box. It was heavier than it looked. She carried it inside, setting it on the kitchen table. Her heart thudded as she pried it open.
Inside, wrapped in a strip of faded cloth, was another letter. Resting on top of it was a black-and-white photograph. Emma's breath caught in her throat.
The woman in the picture looked exactly like her—same eyes, same jawline. Beside the woman stood a man Emma had never seen before. Both were smiling in front of the mansion.
She turned the photograph over. On the back, written neatly in dark ink, were three words: Find the truth.