Chapter 1
BrierleyMirrenlosttrackof time the moment she touched wire to shell.
Every piece had to feel special. If it didn't, there was no point selling it. That was her philosophy, the one that kept her awake at night and bent over her workstation in the early hours. Nice was a word she despised—it meant nothing, carried no weight, left no mark on the soul. Her jewellery wouldn't be nice. It couldn't be.
The shop was quiet in the early morning, just the faint sound of bird calls drifting through the open window. She'd decided to work by natural light today; the electricity bill had been higher than expected last month, and every small saving counted. She sat at her workstation, a small pair of tweezers in one hand, the bracelet she'd started yesterday in the other. Around her, scattered fragments of paua shell caught the sunlight; iridescent blues and greens that seemed to glow from within, each one waiting to become something worthy.
This piece was meant to tell a story of the ocean, not the postcard version tourists expected, but the real sea. Deep, complex, alive. She'd chosen shells with flashes of teal and violet, the colours that appeared only in the deepest water, the kind of blue that made you feel small and brave at once. Each shell would be positioned to catch light differently, so the wearer would discover new colours as they moved, as if they carried the ocean's secrets with them. The silver wire would be barely visible, letting the shells speak for themselves. She wanted whoever wore this to feel like they were wearing something wild and untamed. Hours could pass without her noticing. Only the faint ticking of the wall clock marked time's passage.
Beside her, a small pile of boxes held bespoke pieces, each one a small victory. On top of the largest sat a pair of teardrop earrings, and below them, a long chain with coveted Abalone Paua shells dangling from it. The merry jingle of the shop door pulled her from her focus, and she looked up with a wince, her back seizing from hours hunched over her work.
Her arms stretched over her head as she stood up, greeting her co-worker and friend, "Wow, Tori, is it that time already?" The same words left her mouth, with a yawn, every morning at the same strike of the clock.
"Oh, I'm at least three minutes late today," Tori said with a cheerful smile. She approached the messy creative station to see what it was that her boss and best friend had been working on in the smaller hours of the morning.
Before Brierley could protest, Tori swiped up the top box and flicked it open. Staring up at her was a small pair of teardrop-shaped earrings. "These are nice," Tori said, snapping the box closed and putting it back on top of the pile so that she could distribute them in the display cabinets around the store.
Nice. Brierley resisted the urge to grimace. There was no impact behind something being nice, and that was the trouble with her jewellery. It was simply nice. Brierley sighed as she picked up what she had been working on, dangling it on her fingers. This necklace was nice too, she supposed. With a sigh, she put the necklace back down on the creation station where she could attempt to breathe free life into it.
Ohpaua could attract plenty of customers, with its prime position in the high-street complex. It was getting them to part with their money that was the problem. As she walked around the store, she took in each and every one of the small, fashionable items on display. Not for the first time, she wondered if she should just pack it all up and call it a day. Each month seemed to clear less and less of her looming debts, and the disheartening feeling of failure reared its ugly head with each depressing red letter that came through her door. She'd noticed two more empty shop windows on the high street just this week, their "To Let" signs gathering dust. How long before hers joined them? But what could she do, if not this?
"Why the sigh, girl?" Tori asked brightly.
"Oh, I was just thinking about what to make next," Brierley said, covering up her looming thoughts of imposter syndrome.
She scurried back behind her desk while Tori fussed with the shop, making sure the collections looked their best. When it came down to it, her friend was an absolute dream come true; she came in on her days off from the bakery, was a marvel with the customers and gave Brierley all the time in the world to work on new stock for the store. All she ever wanted in return was cups of fruit tea, which she made herself. Brierley made a mental note to check her bank balance later—she'd been avoiding it all week, dreading what the numbers would tell her.
The welcoming jingle of the door opening again had Brierley looking up. A twist of hope that a customer was making their way inside ended up in disappointment that it was just the postman doing the rounds.
“You look roasting today, Scott,” Brierley chatted with the regular postie, “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, you’re all right thanks, Bri, I’d rather get the rounds done and then home,” the swiftly moving man replied, as he handed her a formal-looking letter. “I’ve got the whole complex to do today, so I’d rather get done,” he repeated as he hurried off back out of the door, vanishing as quickly as he arrived.
Brierley turned the letter over in her hands, taking in the logo and typesetting formally displayed across the front of it. The only indication of the contents was the grey imprint of a large, capital M in the corner. The name was embossed, neatly underneath in stark capital letters. Everything about it radiated sumptuous affluence. And control. It felt stifling just to hold. Yet, she was loath to tear it open. It would ruin such a perfectly crafted letter, which had her name and address hand-written in spidery script across the front. She was as impressed by it as she was intimidated.
"Are you going to open that or stare at it forever?" Tori asked.
"I think I know the name Merloft?" Brierley said vaguely, turning the letter over once again and using her finger to pry open the thick envelope.
The letter that she removed had the same logo sitting in the top corner. A stylised capital letter made from Roman columns dictated the sender: Merloft Corp. Her eyes scanned the commanding words, and her heart lifted slightly.New rental agreement.That sounded... stable. Structured. Maybe they werejust formalizing things, making it official. She'd been so worried about uncertainty, and here was a corporation—a proper, established corporation—putting things in writing. That had to be good, didn't it?
"What is it?" Tori asked, watching her face.
"I think... I think they're renewing the lease," Brierley said, a tentative smile forming. "Look—'new rental agreement commencing on the 1st of the month.' That's just standard, right? They're keeping me on. They're keeping the shop." Relief began to flood through her, warm and unexpected. She'd been bracing for the worst, and instead, here was stability. Here was a future.
She turned the letter over, still smiling, ready to show Tori the good news. "It's going to be okay. It's actually going to be—"
Her eyes found the numbers.
The smile froze on her face.
"What?" Tori leaned in. "What does it say?"
Brierley's throat went dry. She read the figure again, certain she'd misread it the first time. She hadn't. The number stared back at her, brutal and unforgiving. Her hands began to shake.
"How much?" she whispered.
Tori gently took the letter from her trembling fingers and scanned it, her own expression shifting from curiosity to concern. "Oh, Bri..."
