Page 97 of For Dear Life

“Sawyer’s?” I suggest. The door handle won’t move at my first attempt. “Locked.”

“Warded?” asks Rowan.

The wood splinters as I yank away the handle. “Evidently not.”

“Can you stop breaking things, Violet?” he says in exasperation.

Ignoring him, I walk into the room.

The spacious area obviously serves as both a working and relaxing area, the L-shaped mahogany desk central at one end, along with a plush leather sofa, a couple of matching armchairs, and a glass coffee table at the other.

“Oh yeah, this is Sawyer’s,” says Grayson, pointing at a row of certificates on the wall. To the left of the desk, matching shelves display awards for business and golfing prowess. I examine the cupboard beneath the shelves, also not runed, and discover bottles of whiskey and cut tumbler glasses inside.

“I can smell him,” I say, but also sense magic similar to his bedroom. “Look around. Anything with symbols?”

Grayson crosses his arms and walks along the floor, studying each framed certificate, while Rowan picks up and examines each award. Perhaps there’re unusual etching on one of the silver golfer figurines. I close my eyes and attempt to home in on the magic energy in the air.

My gaze drops to the rug, bright blue and printed with the Sawyer’s Soups logo, a bold red font with no incorporated symbols. Still. I blow air into my cheeks and crouch down, placing a hand on the rug.

“The magic comes from low down. Check the drawers,” I tell Rowan. “Grayson, can you stand in the doorway in case someone followed us from outside?”

“You think they did?” Rowan pauses, face filling with alarm.

“I expect someone’s watching us,” I say casually. “Don’t worry. I told Dorian we were coming here. Although… I might’ve given him the wrong time. We have an hour.”

Grayson places a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “Don’t stress. There’s plenty of places to hide.”

“Hide?” I scoff. “Let’s see what Sawyer’s hiding. Then, we leave.”

I roll back the rug with Grayson’s help, disappointed to see unmarked floorboards. The rug extends beneath the desk, and I narrow my eyes, remembering the nightstands in the bedroom.

“Grayson, help me move the desk,” I say and effortlessly lift one end. Between us, we relocate the desk to the opposite end of the room as if moving an empty box.

More floorboards are beneath the newly revealed part of the rug. “There must be something,” I say. “Can’t you sense it, Rowan? Turn the picture frames over. Anything on the back? Magic from touching them?”

“This is taking too long,” mumbles Grayson, darting to the doorway again as me and Rowan lift away each picture.

We locate a safe behind his college graduation certificate, easily opened and containing nothing, which is as suspicious as if it had been filled with secret documents or items.

“Ugh.” I look around the room. “Move the other furniture.”

“Sawyer will notice someone rearranged his office,” says Rowan.

I shrug and give the leather sofa a light shove, easily sliding it in front of the relocated desk. “He might think it’s the witches. Or Dorian.”

“Violet,” Rowan says.

He points at the flood beneath the sofa’s original position, and a buzz of excitement runs through me. Circular runes are burned into the wood, each one no bigger than a thumbnail. “Yes!”

Flames flicker at my fingertips as I crouch and reach towards the runes. “Bloody hell, Violet. Don’t set fire to the place,” protests Grayson.

“Please don’t insult my ability to control magic. I’m merely searing the wood to wipe out the runes. They’ll be holding something behind.” Both look over my shoulder as the runes momentarily glow orange before the cracks where the floorboard joins others glimmers white beneath. “Grayson?”

Rowan steps back, staring as Grayson’s nails grow longer and stronger. “You can turn hemia that quickly?” Grayson flashes Rowan his canines in answer. “O-kay.”

He leverages the floorboard away and they join me in kneeling to peer inside. A shoebox sized container is tucked in the small, dark space, and I dart a hand in to remove it. More runes decorate the gray metal, roughly scratched with a blade, and magic emanates from the box to my fingers.

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