With a sharp click, the lock finally yielded. The door, heavy and damp, creaked open just a few inches. Lily expected the smell of mold or dry rot, but instead, a faint, clean scent drifted out.
As the door swung wide, the beam of the flashlight revealed a room that was meticulously maintained. There were no cobwebs, no dust, and no spiders.
This wasn’t a storage unit; it was a sanctuary. The walls were lined with neat, organized boxes, and in the center of the room sat a small wooden table.
Resting directly in the middle of the table was a single white envelope. Lily’s heart hammered against her ribs when she saw her own name written on the front in Mabel’s elegant, cursive handwriting.
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