Page 17 of Shattered Jewel

“Will do.” I keep my focus sharp, aware that one wrong step could send a homemade noisemaker blaring throughout the house. We navigate the hallway, a maze designed by a mind that sees enemies in every corner. It’s a strange duality, living with someone who crafts fortresses out of fear, yet here we are, tiptoeing through the latest iteration of her makeshift security.

“Elara,” Sasha says, her hand gripping my arm. “Stop.”

I freeze. “What? What is it?”

“Look.” She points at the floor where a nearly invisible thread stretches across our path, glinting faintly in the scarce moonlight filtering through a distant window.

“So she’s kept the fishing line after all,” I breathe out, stepping carefully over the tripwire. We continue, each of us hyperaware that one misstep could mean disaster—or, at the very least, waking the banshee that is my mother by springing her traps.

Sasha’s presence is a constant comfort, even as adrenaline gets me up the stairs, through the winding hallway, and in front of Maverick’s door.

I take the time to use my phone and illuminate the doorframe, well aware that out of all the rooms in the manor, my mother’s and Maverick’s are her top priority to protect. Finding nothing yet, I inspect the door’s handle.

“There,” I whisper. “You see it?”

Sasha peers over my shoulder, adding her phone’s light to mine. “Nope.”

“A piece of her hair.” I motion to the subtle shine of a hair strand, wavy and long, laid over the lever. “We have to make sure we put it back when we leave.”

Sasha nods. “Got it.”

After carefully laying the strand of hair on the neck of the handle where we won’t disturb it, I push the door open.

We slip inside, the moonlight casting a ghostly glow across a life cut tragically short. I can almost hear Maverick’s laughter, a lost sound from a happier time that now feels like a distant dream.

Sasha lets out a low whistle, her gaze sweeping over the motley collection of posters and gamer trophies. “Do we have to worry about any traps in here?”

“No. Mom wouldn’t disturb Maverick’s stuff. This is like a shrine to her now. We have to return anything we touch or move exactly as it was.”

A pang of sadness clogs my throat at seeing my brother’s world exactly as he left it the day he died. It’s as if he could walk through the door at any moment, flashing that quiet smile before burying his head in his computer or comics.

“Hey, check this out,” Sasha says.

She’s holding up a CD stacked with others on his desk, the cover emblazoned with the bright, grinning faces of a once-famous boy band. “Maverick had a thing for these guys?”

“Shut up,” I retort half-heartedly, the corner of my mouth twitching upward despite myself. “They were popular back then, even to him.”

“Sure, sure.” Sasha laughs under her breath, carefully placing the CD back onto the shelf.

My fingers glide over the spines of books, tracing the faded titles and worn edges of his fantasy series collection that line his shelves. Holding them creates a physical connection to him. Mavvy was always such a book nerd, reading on his beach chair during our rare family vacations while I splashed him from the pool, begging him to join me.

Sasha picks through his desk drawers, her forehead wrinkled in concentration as she hunts. The reverent hush of the room is broken only by the soft shuffling of papers and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath our feet.

I slowly straighten the sheets of Maverick’s mattress after checking under it, ensuring they’re as crease-free as they were before.

Glancing at his closed laptop, I remember Maverick’s obsession with Warcraft and his deep involvement with the online gaming community. Maverick was smart, levelheaded, and popular. He avoided trouble, yet attracted the most popular kids in school, who’d invite him to underage parties and offer him drugs, sex, and trips on their private jets. My middle school friends told me that Maverick’s hotness overrode any geek in him, including his love for elves, castles, and dragons. Girls found it adorable.

Sasha and I search the room meticulously. Our hands glide over the surfaces of Maverick’s belongings, and our eyes scan for any clue that might lead us to the answers we seek, my heart twisting as our disturbance causes the last remnants of his cologne to waft into the air. I resist the urge to bring one of his shirts to my face and inhale deeply because of the risk that I’ll break down.

I was never allowed in Maverick’s room after he died. The one time I tried, Mom collapsed at the threshold and wailed so terribly, I didn’t do it again.

A loud creak from the hallway snaps my head toward the door. Sasha and I freeze, ears cocked.

Silence.

Sasha mouths, What was that?

I shake my head, straining to detect any sound. When I hear none, I gesture for her to keep looking.

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