Chapter 4 — The Key to Secrets

Clara Bennett

The attic was colder than Clara remembered, as though the years had leached the warmth from its air, leaving only the sharp scents of cedar and dust. She pushed the creaking door open with her shoulder, the flashlight in one hand and the ornate brass key in the other. The beam of light swept across the slanted ceiling, catching motes of dust that swirled in lazy spirals before coming to rest on an old trunk in the far corner. Unlike the towering bookshelves and antique dressers that loomed like forgotten sentinels in the shadows, the trunk seemed almost unassuming—small, understated, but somehow... waiting. Its placement felt deliberate, as though it had been tucked away for her to find at just this moment.