Chapter 3 — Whispers in the Attic

Theo

The bookstore was quiet, save for the occasional groan of the wooden floorboards beneath Theo’s boots. The scent of old paper and varnish lingered in the air—a bittersweet comfort that wrapped around him like a memory he couldn’t shake. His parents’ voices used to fill this space, warm and full of life as they worked side by side. Now, the air felt heavier, burdened by years of neglect and the silence they left behind.

Theo set the tin of biscuits Mrs. Greenfield had left on the counter aside, his fingers hovering over its edge. He hesitated. It was the kind of thing his mother would have tucked away in the back room for a rainy day, the moment made poignant by its simplicity. He shook his head and stepped back, brushing away the thought. There was work to be done, and sentimentality wouldn’t help.

The attic.

Alina had arrived half an hour earlier, a gust of energy disrupting the quiet. She was already upstairs, rummaging through his parents’ carefully stored but long-forgotten artifacts. Theo had lingered downstairs, steeling himself. The idea of working side by side with her, someone who once knew him better than anyone and who had also left him behind, felt like reopening a wound he’d spent years trying to close.

A creak from above broke his reverie. He sighed, his resolve thinning under the weight of obligation, and began climbing the narrow staircase. Each step groaned beneath his boots, a reminder of the years that had passed since the attic had last been touched.

The door to the attic was ajar, muted sunlight filtering through the dusty air. When Theo stepped inside, his gaze landed immediately on Alina. She was crouched in the far corner, tugging at a box half-buried under a trunk. A shaft of light caught in her auburn hair, teasing out coppery hues that gleamed like fire in the dim room. Her sweater sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, her faded jeans dusted with cobwebs. She looked out of place and yet utterly at home, like a fleeting memory caught in the present.

“You certainly don’t waste time,” Theo said, his voice breaking the quiet. He leaned against the doorframe, forcing a neutral tone.

Alina glanced over her shoulder, her sea-green eyes narrowing slightly. “Figured I’d get a head start. You know, since you didn’t seem in a rush.”

Her words were light, but there was an edge to them. The tension between them—years of unresolved history and words left unsaid—hung in the air like the dust motes swirling in the light.

Theo stepped further into the room, weaving past precarious stacks of books and boxes. “Let me.”

“I’ve got it,” she replied quickly, her voice tight as she pulled harder on the box.

He crouched beside her. “It’s stuck.”

“It’s fine. I can handle it.” She yanked again, her fingers gripping the edges.

Theo reached out, their hands brushing for the briefest moment. The contact sent a jolt through him, and they both pulled back as if burned.

“Fine,” Alina muttered, standing and folding her arms. “Be my guest.”

Gripping the box, Theo gave it a sharp tug. It came free with a groan of protest, sending up a cloud of dust. He coughed, waving a hand in front of his face as Alina smirked, amusement flickering in her eyes.

“Impressive,” she said, brushing a cobweb off her shoulder. “You always had a knack for brute force.”

“And you always had a knack for standing around criticizing,” Theo countered, though the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.

Alina’s smirk softened, a hint of the girl he used to know slipping through. But she didn’t respond, instead crouching again to flip open the box. Inside was a jumble of yellowed papers, faded photographs, and—a journal.

The leather-bound book caught the light, its gilded edges dulled with time. A tarnished clasp held it shut, intricate designs curling along its surface like the roots of an ancient tree. Theo stared at it, unease stirring in his chest like the echo of something forgotten.

“This doesn’t look like inventory,” Alina murmured, her fingers hovering over the cover.

Theo knelt beside her, his voice quieter now. “Let me see.”

For a moment, she hesitated, her sea-green eyes meeting his. Then, with a small nod, she handed the journal over. His hands closed around it, the leather cool and worn beneath his fingers. The clasp’s delicate design caught his attention—a faint emblem etched into the metal. It was familiar, though he couldn’t place it.

“It’s locked,” he said, his thumb grazing the clasp.

“Of course it is.” Alina leaned back on her heels, her tone lighter, but her gaze lingered on the journal. “Nothing worth finding ever comes easy, does it?”

Theo’s jaw tightened. Her words hit deeper than she likely intended, stirring thoughts of things left buried—things he’d rather not face. He set the journal aside with a quiet resolve not to engage, reaching instead for another box. The journal’s presence, however, lingered like a shadow at the edge of his thoughts.

They worked in silence after that, the rustling of papers and creaking floorboards filling the gaps between them. Alina narrated her discoveries with a dry humor that Theo couldn’t help but find familiar. She held up a jar of sea glass, a weathered fishing net, or an old ledger with exaggerated curiosity. He stayed focused, sorting through what might be salvageable, though his eyes drifted back to the journal more often than he wanted to admit.

At one point, Alina pulled out a folded piece of paper and unfolded it with care. “Do you think this is a treasure map?” she asked, holding up what looked like a crude sketch of the harbor.

“This is a bookstore,” Theo said without looking up, “not a pirate ship.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she quipped, gesturing to the chaotic assortment of objects around them.

Despite himself, Theo chuckled—a low, reluctant sound that caught them both off guard. Alina glanced at him, her lips twitching as though she wanted to say something, but she turned back to the map instead.

As the sunlight faded, Theo straightened, his back aching from hours of crouching and lifting. The attic looked marginally better—less like a forgotten relic and more like a place with potential.

“That’s enough for today,” he said gruffly, brushing dust from his sleeves. “We’ve made progress.”

Alina dusted off her jeans, her gaze flicking toward the journal where it rested on the edge of a crate. “What are you going to do with that?”

Theo hesitated. The clasp glinted faintly in the dim light. “I’ll put it aside,” he said finally, his tone more clipped than he intended. “Maybe look at it later.”

Her lips parted, as if she wanted to push him, but she stopped herself. Instead, she nodded. “Okay,” she said softly, though her disappointment was evident.

They descended the stairs in silence. On the main floor, Alina paused by the counter, her eyes scanning the shelves and stacks of books.

“You know,” she said quietly, “this place could be incredible again. It just needs... a little love.”

Theo stiffened, her words striking a chord he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. “It’s not that simple.”

Alina turned to him, her sea-green eyes steady and unyielding. “Maybe it is. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Before he could respond, she pushed open the door, the bell chiming softly as she stepped out. Theo stood there for a long moment, the journal now tucked under his arm. The clasp gleamed faintly, as if demanding his attention, and he found himself drawn to it despite his better judgment.

Shaking his head, he set the journal on the counter and turned back to the shelves. The familiar rhythm of work was a poor distraction, but it was all he had. Yet even as he moved, the journal remained—quiet, unyielding, and waiting.