No address.
No note.
Just waiting.
I stared at it as if it might move. My heart started beating faster, the kind of pounding you get when your instincts recognize a pattern before your mind does.
My hands shook when I picked it up.
It was heavier than it should have been for its size. Weighty, like it held something more than air and mystery.
I carried it inside and set it on the coffee table. The apartment felt suddenly smaller, like the box had taken up all the space. I circled it once, ridiculous in my own living room, as if I were approaching a wild animal.
Then I noticed something along the side.
A narrow slot.
Oddly shaped, precise, like a keyhole made for something that wasn’t a key.
My breath caught.
The coin.
The memory hit me so sharply I had to sit down for a second. The woman’s cold fingers. The jacket leaving my shoulders. Mr. Harlan’s voice. The way I’d walked away clutching that useless piece of metal.
I dug through my drawer where I’d tossed the coin like it was nothing more than a strange souvenir of the worst day of my working life.
My fingers closed around it, and the rust grit scratched slightly against my skin.
I brought it to the box.
My heart was hammering so loud I could hear it in my ears.
I slid the coin into the slot.
Click.
A sound clean and mechanical, like a lock releasing.
The lid lifted.
Inside was a folded card and a sleek black envelope.
For a moment, I couldn’t move. My hands hovered, useless, as if touching the contents would make them real in a way I wasn’t ready for.
Then I picked up the card.
