Emma slugged his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll teach you.”
They split up, Nico, Logan, and Opal crouch-running to the door. Logan unlocked it and they slipped inside, shutting it firmly behind them.
The warehouse was dim and gloomy, the only light spilling in through dingy windows set up high near the ceiling. Towering rows of shelves flanked a wide central aisle. These held sawed boards and planks of every description, as well as drills, machine parts, and other things Nico couldn’t identify. Logan moved confidently, as if he knew what everything was and how it was used. Against his will, Nico’s respect for him grew.
Logan strode quickly past row after row. At the far end they reached a sliding wall with a zip-flapped door. “This is where employees can store things,” Logan said. “Some lumberjacks don’t have anywhere to keep their personal tools, so my dad provides a room for them. Not for valuables or anything, but stuff the workers need.”
He opened the door and they stepped inside. This room was smaller, lined with shelves like you might see in a supply closet. The rows were labeled by letter and number. Logan walked to the very back section, where a faded yellow sign read: UNCLAIMED ITEMS.
Logan tapped the sign. “Roman Hale’s property would’ve been moved here after he was fired. Hopefully it’s still here. After ten years, unclaimed items are sold at public auction.”
“So where would his stuff be?” Nico asked.
Logan rubbed his chin. “You have the number from his file?”
“Yep.” Opal whipped out her phone. “Section 318-B.”
Logan walked slowly down the aisle, stepping throughshafts of pale sunlight. He stopped halfway and reached up to remove a small grime-covered chest from the top shelf, accidentally dumping a river of dust onto his head in the process.
He set the chest down and sneezed like a machine gun, then hawked onto the concrete floor. “Gross. That’s definitely been there a while.”
Opal knelt and opened it while Logan wiped dirt from his eyes.
There was a latch but no padlock, which disappointed Nico. This wasn’t the type of container used to store precious things.
A single cloth-wrapped bundle was nestled inside.
Nico peered down over Opal’s shoulder. “What is it?”
She unwrapped the moth-eaten fabric. The three of them stared in silence.
“Huh,” Nico said finally.
It was a smooth stone cylinder roughly two feet long and six inches wide. Opal lifted it in her hands, spinning the object to examine it. “Heavy,” she murmured.
Logan straightened with an irritated grunt. “Well, that’s disappointing.”
Nico had to agree. This was a useless piece of rock.
“Wait!” Opal caught a sunbeam on its weathered surface. “There’s an engraving. Some kind of dull image.” She traced the pattern with a finger. “It’s the hand torch!”
“From the tunnel!” Nico agreed. “And the necklaces.”
Opal smacked her head. “We haven’t paid enough attention to that.”
“We’ve been a little busy,” Nico reminded her.
“What’s going on?” Logan glanced back and forth, not enjoying being left out.
“This symbol is carved into the floor of the tunnel,” Opal explained, her voice growing excited. “It’s also on the necklace we found on Hale’s skeleton, and in some houseboat pictures, too. The image ties him to the island. And the Darkdeep, probably!”
Logan frowned. “But this stone thing is useless.”
“Wait.” Opal angled the cylinder and squinted. “There’s writing! But it’s not in English. ‘Accipere Victus.’ Anyone understand that?”
“Latin?” Nico guessed. “Greek?”
Opal and Logan both shrugged.
