The study's air was thick and strongly smelled like antique books and polished wood. Shadows created by the desk lamp moved over the walls. Sarah was immobile, her fingers quivering as they followed the cold, delicate edges of the relic her mother had loved. Her palm felt alive with the locket, its metallic surface catching the dim light and shining like a secret yearning to be found. Her breath stopped as she gently pained it open, the little hinge creak resonating in the quiet.
Inside, curled and worn-edge, a fading picture was snuggled. The picture was shockingly familiar: a far younger version of her mother, her face ablaze with a rare and unguarded grin, posed next to a man Sarah did not know. His arm lay defensively over her mother's shoulder, and his features were sharp, almost royal. Behind them stood a building, its dark shadow dragging at a memory Sarah was unable to entirely hold. The tiniest sensation of déjà vu twisted her throat in her chest.
The words of her father from earlier that evening stayed with her: "Some realities are better kept buried, Sarah. Let it slip away. Despite his warning looming like a raincloud, the locket's irresistible force drove her forward. It seemed like a thread to a secret narrative, one that had silently molded her existence without her awareness.
She experienced a tsunami of feeling and curiosity mixed with rebellion. Why ought she to let that pass? Why should she endure the burden of guarding secrets she never possessed?
She lost awareness of the gentle creak of the study door opening as she was deep in contemplation. Her spine went cold when a familiar voice, deep and slow, pierced the stillness.
Vane spoke, his presence sweeping through the room like a wave engulfing the coast. Her shudder from his voice around the words was a mix of discomfort and something she couldn't describe. Her heart rising to her throat, she whirled abruptly to face him.
His eyes lingered on the necklace she was holding, a flutter of identification flickering in them. His well guarded demeanor momentarily faltered, but it was gone as fast as it arrived, replaced with that angrily enigmatic smile. He moved deliberately, each one shrinking the room as he entered it more deeply.
" What do you know about this?" Sarah insisted, her voice more cutting than she meant. She astonished even herself with her tone of rage, but it was driven by her mounting impatience over unresolved questions.
Vane closed the space between them and started to smile. His voice low and silky, a hazardous tune, "more than you're ready to hear," he added. He briefly observed her, his eyes weighted with significance. "But let me offer you some advise: not everything buried in the past should be unearthed. You're determined to be a detective."
The words hit close to something. Sarah straightened while her jaw tightened. She yelled out, her voice tinged with rebellion, "You sound just like my father." "maybe you both hide the same thing."
Though it missed his eyes, his smile grew wider. The entertainment there seemed empty, as though he were disparaging her determination. "Perhaps," he answered, his voice shockingly vague. "But your father owns his secrets. Can you manage what you are finding?
Her pulse accelerated, a concoction of discomfort and wrath whirled inside her. Before she could, Vane moved; she wanted to scream, demand explanations. She was surprised as his hand quickly grabbed for the necklace, but his touch was unexpectedly light as he pulled it from her hold. His fingers, so warm, stayed on hers, a disturbing reminder of his proximity.
Vane flipped the locket over in his fingers and his keen eyes examined every feature. His face softened momentarily, a shadow of something raw and unprotected passing it. It disappeared just as fast, replaced by the polished mask he wore so naturally. He held the locket out to her, her fingers touching his as she returned it.
"You'll find your answers, Sarah," he whispered, his voice a subdued intensity that tightened her chest. "But expect them to arrive with consequences."
He turned then and left, his footsteps hardly audible on the thick carpet. The study door snapped closed behind him, isolating Sarah once again. She looked down at the locket in her fingers, its metallic surface cold against her skin, and felt his words weigh over her like a veil.
Whatever this mystery was, it wasn't going to let her go—and she wasn't sure she wanted it to.