Kael seemed determined to etch every corner of that tiny rental apartment deep into his very bones. He cleaned every single day, scrubbing every inch of the floor until it shone spotless, as if doing so could somehow wipe away the lingering aura of Lira's death.
During one thorough cleaning, tucked away in a far corner beneath the bed, he found an old shoebox she had hidden there long ago. The box was worn with age and dusted lightly with a fine layer of gray.
He froze at the sight, then a sudden thought struck him. His hands began to tremble violently as he slowly lifted the lid.
Inside, there was no cash, no jewelry, nothing of obvious monetary value. Only a pink‑covered diary, its front cover slightly frayed and worn, and a simple wristwatch wrapped carefully in a soft cloth.
Kael's
