Page 106

LILA

The air is thick with dust, polish, and something faintly metallic that coats the back of my throat. Shelving lines every wall, crowded with crates and boxes, their handwritten labels curling at the corners. A tin sits half-open under Theo’s flashlight, a soft glint reflecting off the beam. The scent of varnish hangs in the air, and brushes lie stiff beside cloudy jars of oil they likely haven’t been dipped in for years.

Near the far wall, a loose sheet of paper lifts with the draft from the open door, fluttering down onto a stack of empty frames.

Theo steps forward, sweeping the beam of his flashlight across a long workbench cluttered with tools: fine brushes, precision scales, magnifying lenses. A jeweler’s lamp sits dark at the edge of the table, its cord wound neatly beside a ledger book spotted with fingerprints.

I file in behind him, scanning the shelves. Theo lifts a tin, squinting at the label.

“Gold leaf adhesive,” he reads.

He sets it down, and I take a slow pass around the room. A thin layer of dust coats everything—shelves, tools, the tops of boxes stacked in uneven towers, the floor.

There are no footprints. No sign of recent movement in the room. No one has stepped foot in this room in years.

On the workbench there is a cracked magnifying lens and brass hinges sorted into neat rows. A microscope sits abandoned. A stack of old books slumps against the wall, edges curled from the damp. This room was once used, heavily, obsessively—and then one day someone left and never came back.

A dull gleam in the far corner catches my eye.

“Theo,” I say, too quietly.

He turns, follows my line of sight, and freezes with the flashlight halfway raised.

The orrery sits on a low table, half-assembled. Brass arms extend in rigid arcs, tiny planets suspended from thin rods. The gears beneath are exposed, intricate and likely hand crafted many years ago.

Even dulled with dust, it’s beautiful. And unmistakable.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he breathes.

Sixteen million dollars in missing astronomical machinery. Tucked in a forgotten basement room beside tarnished tools and boxes no one bothered to sort.

My stomach twists. “It’s real.”

I fully realize that there’s no way for us to know if this thing is actually worth sixteen million dollars, but it feels like too much of a coincidence.

Theo nods, the movement small and disbelieving. “And from the looks of things, only one person in this family knew.”

I am in utter disbelief. “Henry.”

It’s the only thing that makes sense. No one has stepped foot in here in years. If the person who used this space vanished from it that abruptly, I would assume they were dead. Because who leaves something like this behind on purpose?

I take a step closer, but something else pulls my attention away. A sliver of dark wood near the back wall, just behind a row of boxes. A clean vertical seam.

A door.

I guess I shouldn’t have expected that a crawl space was the only way to get in here.

Theo notices when I do.

He walks over to it and runs his fingers along the edge. The panel shifts, swinging inward to reveal a narrow stairway cut into grey stone.

We just stare into the abyss for a long moment, but there is no discussion needed. We’re climbing these stairs.

Theo takes my hand in his and takes the first few steps, “Want to bet where it goes?”

“Sure,” I say, feeling brave. “But I don’t gamble small. And if I win, you should know that I’m going to be very particular about what I’m owed.”

Theo responds with a pained groan. “Sounds a lot like I win either way.”