We rounded the edge of the shale, and the wind changed direction, carrying the earthy scent of gum leaves and stone. I was about to make some joke about secret cubby houses and grumpy grandfathers when something caught the light, a faint glint, half-buried beneath a slab of old, cracked shale.
I stopped mid-step.
“Noah,” I said, tapping his arm gently. “What’s that?”
He followed my gaze, squinting in the sunlight.
There, nestled in the dirt, something metallic gleamed.
I made my way over and crouched beside it, brushing aside leaves. “It’s metal,” I murmured. “Old metal.”
Noah dropped beside me, jeans brushing my calf. “Careful. This rock is sharp.”
Together we cleared the dirt, revealing a small, weathered tin box, edges rusted, lid warped with age. It seemed like it had been here for a long time.
We worked our fingers beneath it and gently eased it free, lifting it from its earthy cradle.
Noah settled back on his heels, dusting the dirt from the lid.
He turned the box over slowly, reverently, like it might whisper back if handled too roughly. His thumb traced the faded lid again. Once. Twice. His brows pulled tight.
A light breeze slipped through the gum leaves above us, stirring dust and the ends of my hair. Honestly, it felt like the trees were leaning in to eavesdrop, which was rude but very on-brand for this place.
“What do you think’s inside?” I whispered.
Noah made a face. “Absolutely no idea.”
A little fizz of something, excitement or nerves, ran down my spine.
We pushed ourselves upright, brushing dirt off our knees.
Without even thinking, we started walking back towards the main house, falling into step the way we always did.
Our hands found each other automatically, like they’d negotiated that agreement behind our backs.
“Feels like your family isn’t quite finished with us,” I said, aiming for calm but probably coming off more like delighted.
Noah let out a tired little breath. “Please, not another mystery.”
He sounded like someone who’d reached their lifetime quota of surprises and would like a refund.
But he kept glancing down at the tin in his hand, like it might start humming or glowing.
Noah slipped his free hand around my waist. “Well, whatever’s in there,” he said, “we’ll face it together.”
Which was a very lovely, reassuring thing to say.
Unfortunately, it was also exactly the sort of thing people say right before everything goes completely off the rails.
As we walked, I could feel it.
The creeping suspicion that, however ridiculous it sounded, another story had somehow found us.
I let out a breath that might have been a laugh.
But this time, weirdly, it didn’t feel quite so overwhelming.
Not with Noah beside me. I glanced up at him, then back at the tin in his hand.
I mean…how bad could it be?
