Avery's POV
After the shower, the cold sensation lingered.
Not the kind that chills your skin—no.
The kind that seeps deeper, settling somewhere between the nape of your neck and your chest.
I got dressed without really thinking, every movement mechanical, almost distant.
But in the corner of my mind, his image remained etched.
That stranger.
His eyes.
His voice.
That strange feeling that he already knew everything about me.
The more I tried to push the memory away, the more it came back—
like a scent you can't forget no matter how hard you try.
An absurd curiosity gnawed at me.
Who was he?
And what did he want from me?
I went downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to drown my thoughts in the familiar noise of everyday life.
But the house was wrapped in a lazy silence.
Only Daniel was there, slouched against the counter, eyes glued to his phone, his usual bored expression firmly in place.
"Mom?" I asked, scanning the room.
"She's taken up her favorite hobby," he replied without looking up.
"Spring cleaning… in the middle of summer."
"Great," I muttered.
I poured myself a glass of green juice—my usual mix of cucumber, spinach, and apple—under my brother's horrified stare.
"You're really going to drink that thing?"
"That thing is full of vitamins," I said, taking a sip.
"That thing smells like wet grass."
"That's because you have no taste."
"No, it's because I actually have a stomach."
I rolled my eyes, but a faint smile brushed my lips.
His stupid comments at least had the merit of grounding me a little.
I left the kitchen, following the muffled sounds coming from the end of the hallway.
Downstairs, in the basement, Mom was already busy.
The air smelled of dust and old memories.
Beams of light filtered through the blinds, casting pale streaks across the open stacks of boxes.
"You're starting already?" I asked softly.
"I had to keep myself busy," she replied without looking up.
"And you know how much I hate doing nothing."
I watched her for a moment. Her movements were precise, almost calm, but the tension in her jaw betrayed the illusion.
I stepped closer and began sorting through things with her, without a word.
Sometimes our hands brushed against the same objects, and in those silent moments, I felt like we were finding fragments of the before we had lost.
Eventually, the conversation resumed—light, filled with small memories.
I even heard her laugh—a real one. Fragile, but sincere.
Then she mentioned Jackson's name.
Time seemed to freeze.
Just for a moment.
But long enough for her to notice my discomfort.
She immediately changed the subject, as if nothing had happened.
I pretended to keep helping, until my fingers caught on something wedged between two boxes.
A notebook.
Brown leather binding, worn, covered in dust.
I picked it up, my heart suddenly heavier.
The half-faded letters on the cover formed a word I knew all too well:
Greenne.
"Mom… have you ever seen this?"
She turned, squinting.
"No. Never."
Curious, I carefully opened the notebook.
The smell of old paper hit me immediately.
Between two yellowed pages, a photograph slipped out and fell to the floor.
I picked it up.
Two men.
Their faces blurred, eaten away by time.
Between them, a wooden object engraved with strange symbols—a box.
Exactly like the one I had glimpsed a year ago in Dad's office.
Hidden beneath a pile of documents he had forbidden me to touch.
A shiver ran through me.
I turned one page.
Then another.
And there—
A drawing.
A key.
The same one I had found at the Shade Diner three days earlier.
The one that belonged to the stranger who had been haunting my thoughts.
My breath caught.
I stood frozen, the notebook clenched in my hands.
And in my mind, a single thought repeated itself, insistent, burning:
What the hell was this?
---
Thousands of questions collided in my head.
What was this notebook?
Why were those drawings inside it?
Did it really belong to my father?
That question was easy to answer.
It was Dad's handwriting. There was no doubt about it.
But one last question obsessed me even more:
What connection did it have to that mysterious stranger with steel-gray eyes?
Did they know each other?
I jumped when a hand landed on my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Avery, are you okay?" my mother asked.
"Yeah… yeah, I'm… fine," I stammered.
But it was a lie.
Nothing was fine.
My heart was pounding wildly, my thoughts tangled.
Still holding the notebook, I muttered,
"I… I'm going to go upstairs for a bit. I need to… rest."
Without waiting for her reply, I rushed up the stairs.
Daniel tried to call after me, but I didn't answer.
I shut my bedroom door behind me and leaned against it, breathless.
I searched frantically—through my drawers, my closet, under the cushions, and finally beneath the bed…
And there it was.
The key.
Wedged between the wall and the rug.
I picked it up.
It glimmered faintly in the dim light.
It had the same shape as the one drawn in the notebook.
But the symbols…
They were different.
I stood there, frozen—the key in one hand, the notebook in the other.
My mind was boiling.
And one thought—absurd yet persistent—crossed my mind:
What if the box was still there?
I raced down the stairs and rushed into Dad's office.
Daniel called out to me, but I didn't respond.
I searched the desk, drawer after drawer, pile after pile, under my brother's stunned and confused gaze.
Nothing.
Then my eyes caught on something.
A family photo sitting on the back shelf—the same one Daniel and I had noticed the day before.
Something drew me to it.
A dull, almost physical intuition.
I picked it up and turned it over.
And there—
A slight indentation in the wall behind it.
I pressed my hand against the surface. The wallpaper was subtly raised.
An irregularity. Small, but unmistakable.
Ignoring Mom's protests as she arrived behind me, I scratched at the wall.
A piece of plaster fell away.
And beneath my fingers, a small metal button appeared, hidden in the wall.
I stared at it for a moment.
Then, without thinking, I pressed it.
A click.
Sharp. Deep.
The silence that followed felt endless.
Then the floor vibrated slightly beneath my feet.
And in front of us—Daniel and me—a section of the wall slowly slid away.
An opening.
Dark.
Invisible just the day before.
I took a step forward, the key clenched in my hand.
And without knowing it, I had just opened a door to the past—
And to my future.