Page 64 of Blurred Lines

"And he always went on about how his mom would be better off a widow," Finn adds. "Escape—maybe it isn't a place, but a way of life?"

We read the confounded riddle again, and it still makes zero sense. Finn is onto something, though. This isn't about location, it's about unlocking some secret Harvey carried all his life.

"His mom …" I begin, the gears in my brain starting to turn. "Where did she hang out most?"

Finn snaps his fingers. "Library. She loved to read." He's already at the kitchen door, a blur of motion. "Come on!"

We tear through the mansion and burst out the back porch. Sprawling grounds, a massive pool … the afternoon sun beats down mercilessly. It's unseasonably hot, or maybe it's my own heart still burning. Finn sprints across the lawn, Silas and I hot on his heels. He doesn't head for the willow tree by the old fountain, though. Instead, he vanishes behind a structure almost hidden by overgrown ivy.

Harvey, for all his wealth, has an entire mini house dedicated to books, records, and old films. The door stands ajar. Without a word, driven by a mix of curiosity and a desperate need to cool off, I step inside.

It's as if I've entered a portal to another time. Sunlight, filtering through a stained-glass window depicting knights and dragons, casts rainbows across a worn Persian rug beneath my feet. The air hangs heavy, a comforting blend of old paper, vanilla, and the faintest touch of sandalwood. It's the kind of scent that makes you want to curl up and lose yourself.

Mahogany shelves, polished to a warm gleam, climb towards a ceiling frescoed with constellations long faded. Each shelf is a treasure trove: leather-bound classics with gold-embossed titles, dog-eared paperbacks, and volumes so ancient their covers have turned brittle with age. Whimsical carvings—grinning gargoyles, wise-eyed owls, even a mermaid perched atop a stack of nautical histories—peek out from the shadows.

My fingers dance across the spines, a symphony of textures against my skin. Cracked cloth, pebbled leather, faded velvet—each tells a story of its own. A whisper of movement draws my gaze to a bookcase nestled deep within an alcove. The worn velvet curtains framing it stir as if caught by a phantom breeze.

There, bathed in a sliver of sunlight, rests a single book. Its golden spine gleams softly, the faded lettering hinting at lost secrets. It feels alive, humming with a gentle warmth beneath my touch. I swear I can hear my name whispered on the wind, a silent invitation into a world of mystery and untold treasures.

"Caeleb, over here!" Finn yells, but his voice sounds distant.

Without thinking, I reach for the golden spine. My fingers barely brush it when the entire bookcase groans. Before I can even yell out in surprise, it slides forward with a thunderous rumble.

And reveals … darkness. A hidden passageway shimmers where there should be nothing.

28

FINN

"Whoa," Caeleb whispers, eyes transfixed as all three of us look at the room inside the library.

"What should we do?" I ask him, my throat heavy. "Should we go in and see if … see if we can find the treasure?"

"We can," Silas says. "But we shouldn't. It's not our treasure, therefore not our business. We've done what we came to do."

He's right, though I wish it didn't have to end here. To be honest, the reason I allowed myself to get so immersed in this entire hunt was because this was the only thing left to tie us to Emily. Now that this is also done, and she's gone, there's nothing left. We go back to our lives, and somehow, we live knowing that there's no returning to what once was. A lump rises to my throat. I speak in spite of it. "Fine," I tell the men. "What do we do from here, then?"

"We tell Emily there's a room in her father's mansion, and it probably has the treasure he wrote about," Silas deadpans, the shadows in his eyes revealing nothing. Damn, he can be stone-like when he's hurting. I don't know how to fix it, so I hope time does the trick. "I'm not doing it."

"Me neither," I mutter, balling my hands into fists.

Caeleb sighs. "Guess that leaves me, then." He fishes out his phone and composes a brief message. Before sending it to Emily, he shows it to us.

My eyes scan over the contents of the message.

Don't worry. I'm not texting because I want to ask you to give us another chance. I get that we're done. But you may be interested in knowing the secret room is in your father's library house, past the first bookshelf.

It's specific enough, without being apparent. "Fine," I grunt. "Send it to her."

I'm screaming internally. I feel like tossing the phone away from his hand, because there really is no turning back from here. Damn this to hell. I wish Emily would have trusted us enough to at least tell us why she did what she did, but no. I watch Caeleb hit the send button, and then, it's done.

"Okay," says Silas, massaging his forehead. "I have a headache the size of a tsunami, so I'm going home."

"Me too," mutters Caeleb. "I need to sleep. And no—" he snaps at Silas, "it's not because I take naps whenever things go downhill. I'm genuinely tired."

Silas raises his hands. "Hey, I didn't say it."

The two of them look at me. I swallow. "I'll go meet a few friends, have a drink, then head home."

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