The old house on Wrenhill Lane didn't feel like home. Not anymore.
Daniel stood on the creaking floorboards of the study, his fingers brushing over dust-covered shelves lined with books no one had read in years. His father's handwriting still marked the margins, half-thoughts and reminders scrawled in neat, precise strokes. Daniel used to find comfort in those tiny notes. Now they just felt like ghosts.
He exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the key in his pocket—the one to the small lockbox his mother had left him. He hadn't opened it yet. Couldn't bring himself to. Not tonight.
Instead, he walked to the window, pushing it open. The night air was sharp, smelling of rain and earth. Far off, a barn owl called once, its cry hollow and lonely. He leaned against the wooden frame and closed his eyes.Just breathe.
The funeral had emptied him. Faces blurred together; hands shook his, offering words he could barely remember. All he could think about was how the world seemed to keep turning when his had stopped.
"Dan."
The voice behind him was quiet but familiar. Gabriel. His childhood friend, and the only person stubborn enough to stay close, even now.
Daniel turned to find him standing in the doorway, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, expression somewhere between worry and exhaustion.
"I figured you'd be up here," Gabriel said, stepping inside without waiting for permission. He dropped a bottle of whiskey on the desk, the thunk of it startling in the silence. "You look like you could use this."
Daniel's lips quirked in something almost like a smile. "And what do you get out of it?"
Gabriel shrugged. "An excuse to sit in an uncomfortable chair and remind you you're not alone."
They sat. They drank. They didn't talk much. And somehow, that was enough.
Later, long after the bottle was half-empty and the silence had settled into something less heavy, Gabriel leaned back and looked at Daniel."You're going to have to open that box sometime."
Daniel's jaw clenched. "Not yet."
Gabriel nodded like he understood. Maybe he did.
"Soon," Daniel said, more to himself than anyone else.
And in the stillness, the weight in his chest lifted—just a little.