"Push harder," Aria said.
Damien drove his shovel into the soft earth. The blade sank past the twisted roots. "Something is down here. Metal."
They had been digging for twenty minutes. Sweat soaked through Aria's shirt. Her palms blistered beneath the wooden handle. The hole grew wider, deeper, darker – a wound in the ground where secrets had been buried for decades.
Damien stopped. Dropped to his knees. His fingers scraped against rust. "I see a box."
He pulled it free from the dirt. A small safe, no larger than a shoebox. Rust coated its surface like dried blood. A combination lock held the lid shut, its dial stiff from years of neglect.
Aria brushed away mud. "How do we open it?"
"Your grandmother's birthday?" Damien turned the lock. "Your mother's?"
"Try my birthday." She spun t
