The key was cold in Ethan's palm.
It looked ordinary—small, brass, slightly worn—but as he slid it into the lock of his grandfather's study, the weight of generations seemed to press down on us.
The door resisted at first.
Then, with a sharp click, it opened.
A stale scent drifted out—dust, old paper, and something metallic beneath it all. The room had been frozen in time. Thick curtains blocked most of the daylight, leaving shadows stretched across towering shelves filled with leather-bound books. A massive oak desk sat at the center, its surface scarred with age and ink stains.
"So this is it," I murmured.
Ethan stepped inside slowly, his gaze scanning every corner. "No one's been in here since my grandfather died."
I believed him. The air itself felt untouched.
He crossed to the desk and ran his fingers over the surface, stopping at a faint carving etched into the wood—an unfamiliar symbol, half-hidden beneath years of wear.
"Have you seen this before?" I asked.
Ethan shook his head. "No. But my grandfather used symbols like this. He believed in… layers. Nothing was ever just what it seemed."
That sent a chill through me.
We began searching methodically. I moved toward the bookshelves, pulling out volumes one by one. Most were old ledgers, journals, legal records—years of the Blackwood family history documented in precise handwriting.
Ethan opened drawers, each one revealing more clutter: letters, sealed envelopes, a tarnished pocket watch that no longer ticked.
Minutes passed in silence.
Then—
"Zyra," Ethan said quietly. "Come here."
I hurried to his side. He was crouched beside the fireplace, fingers pressing against a loose stone near the base.
"This wasn't like this before," he said.
Together, we pushed.
The stone slid inward with a soft grind, and a hidden compartment opened behind it.
Inside was a narrow metal box.
My heart began to pound. "That's… it?"
"Part of it," Ethan replied, lifting it carefully.
The box was locked, but unlike the door, there was no keyhole—only a rotating dial with engraved letters around its edge.
A code.
I swallowed. "Your grandfather really didn't want this found."
Ethan's expression hardened. "Or he wanted it found by the right person."
Before we could examine it further, a sound echoed from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate.
Ethan shut the compartment instantly, sliding the stone back into place. He motioned for silence.
The footsteps stopped just outside the study door.
Then came a knock.
"Mr. Blackwood?" Mrs. Chen's voice trembled. "There's… there's someone here asking for you. He says it's urgent."
Ethan and I exchanged looks.
"Who?" he asked.
She hesitated. "He didn't give a name. But he said… he said he knows about your grandfather."
Every nerve in my body went rigid.
Ethan straightened, jaw tight. "Tell him I'll be right there."
When Mrs. Chen left, I grabbed Ethan's arm. "This isn't a coincidence."
"No," he agreed. "They're moving faster than I expected."
He slid the metal box into the inner pocket of his jacket. "Whatever this is, they're not getting it."
"Ethan," I whispered, "what if the danger isn't just about the treasure?"
He met my eyes, something dark and determined burning in his gaze. "Then we're already deeper in this than we thought."
As we stepped out of the study and into the corridor, I felt it again—that unmistakable sensation of being watched.
The mansion wasn't just holding secrets.
It was waking
up.
And whatever my husband's grandfather had hidden…
It was finally ready to be uncovered.