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"Old ones."

I glanced at him.

"Helpful."

"Hazel."

Right.

I got down on my knees and reached into the opening.

The cavity was maybe eight inches deep and twice the width of my hand. My fingers found dust first, then wood, and then something that definitely didn't belong inside a wall.

I pulled it out.

A book.

For one ridiculous second, neither of us said anything.

Not a grimoire. Not some ancient leather-bound volume humming with forbidden magic.

A library book.

I wiped the dust from the cover with my thumb.

WILDFLOWERS OF THE OHIO COUNTRY, Vol. III.

The Cleveland Public Library stamp was still visible inside, along with the little card pocket glued to the cover and a checkout slip stamped in fading purple ink.

Due June 14, 2001.

I stared at the date.

"Twenty-four years overdue."

River looked at me. "I wouldn't worry about the fine."

Under any other circumstances, I might have laughed. Instead, I sat down right there on the kitchen floor. My back met the cabinets with a soft thud, and the book rested across my thighs.

I didn't open it.

For the first time since walking into the apartment, I had something in my hands that might actually have belonged to her.

Not a story Danika refused to tell me. Not a name on a family tree. Not some imagined version of a woman who'd been dead my entire life.

Something she might have touched.

My thumb rested against the edge of the cover.

Still, I couldn't make myself lift it.

River lowered himself to the floor across from me.

"You don't have to do it now."

"If I don't do it now, I'll do it in a motel at three in the morning."

"Then you'll do it at three in the morning."