I squinted, my breath catching. The gate was rusted and heavy, but not locked. With a gentle tug, it creaked open, groaning like a voice long forgotten.
A cold draft escaped from within, carrying the scent of damp earth and ancient stone.
“We should be careful,” Gentry said quietly, pulling out his phone and flicking on the flashlight. I followed suit, illuminating a narrow stone stairway descending into darkness.
Step by cautious step, we moved downward. The walls, slick with moisture, closed in, each footfall muffled on the worn stone steps.
At the bottom, the beam of light revealed a vaulted chamber lined with sarcophagi, their surfaces cracked and worn by centuries of neglect. The silence was profound, broken only by the distant drip of water echoing in the stillness.
Gentry’s light settled on a small recess carved into the wall. “Here,” he said softly.
Inside rested an iron box, heavy with rust but unsealed. I knelt and eased the lid open, the faint scent of aged paper rising.Nestled inside was a collection of personal effects: an old quill, a pair of cracked spectacles, and several folded sheets of yellowed parchment.
I carefully unfolded the topmost paper, revealing the worn leather cover of a journal.A.S
“Alban’s journal,” I whispered.
Gentry smiled faintly, his eyes reflecting the harsh light. “This could change everything.”
The journal lay nestled in a shallow box lined with acid-free paper. Gentry had insisted on bringing proper archival materials in his bag. He handled the fragile leather cover gently, careful not to crease or tear the brittle pages inside.
“I know you want to open it. I do too, but this goes straight to the university,” he said softly, securing the box with extra padding. “They have the experts to preserve it, digitize it, and study it without destroying the history.”
I nodded, watching him with a mixture of awe and quiet gratitude. The weight of what we’d found settled heavily between us, but none of it felt real yet, like the journal was a secret waiting to be uncovered by the right eyes.
Gentry slung the box carefully into the backseat and climbed in beside me. The car smelled of him, sharp and inviting. Faded daylight painted the dashboard gold as he started the engine and glanced over, his fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel.
He paused, letting go of the steering wheel to run a hand through his hair and tug at the chestnut strands. “I have to saysomething, and I really need you not to interrupt. Not until I finish. I’ll lose it if you do.”
I caught the half-smile threatening my lips but stayed silent.
He shifted to tilt his body toward me and then looked straight at me, eyes intense. “I’ve loved every second with you. All of it. The dusty texts, the late dinners, the weird errands you somehow made fun. You’re amazing, Astoria. Curse or not.”
His throat bobbed as he blinked rapidly; his eyes were tinged red, and I could tell he was holding back more than words. “I know what I’m asking is probably more than you’re willing to give. But all I want is a chance. One dinner. As more than friends.”
I swallowed hard, my hands gripping the edge of my seat. “I—”
His fingers gently tilted my chin so I met his gaze. His eyes flicked from mine to my mouth and back again. “All I’m asking for is a chance,” he repeated quietly. “I know about your past. I know you’ve been married. That you’re a mother. I know what you’ve survived. I know you still love him. But I think you might love me too. Or maybe, someday, you could.”
I did care for him. Maybe even loved him, in that quiet, stubborn way that creeps up on you. But it didn’t compare to what I had with Grim.
“You don’t have to say anything now,” he added quickly before gesturing to the back seat. “What’s inside might not help. Not after what you said, last night. And it certainly doesn’t change how I feel…”
The truth cracked open between us, raw and real. “I don’t want to watch you die,” I whispered, voice trembling.
He turned my hand over, to hold it in his. “You won’t,” he promised softly. “But even if you did… I’d still choose this. There would be no greater joy than spending my years by your side.”
The car was filled with the quiet hum of the engine and the faint sound of the radio. For the first time in a long time, the weight in my chest lightened just a little.
When had my life changed so drastically that I now had people who loved me?
Tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, he added, “I want this. If you do, too.”
thirty-eight
The room smelled of old paper and silence. One of those cavernous archival wings tucked behind reinforced glass doors and climate control, with worn velvet ropes hanging from brass stanchions like ceremonial guards.
It was after hours, and yet the lights hummed gently overhead, dimmed to preserve the materials but warm enough to feel reverent. The only illumination beyond that came from the monitor in front of us, a high-resolution scan pulled up from the university’s internal server.
