The house was quiet again that night.
Too quiet.
I sat at the desk in my room staring at the small blue notebook my father used to carry everywhere.
It had been hours since Adrian brought the box upstairs, but I still hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.
The bracelet.
The cracked glasses.
The notebook.
Three small things that somehow survived the crash.
Three small things that used to belong to my parents.
I ran my fingers along the cover again.
The paper still smelled faintly like rain.
Or maybe that was just my imagination.
Outside the window, the estate grounds had fallen into darkness. Only a few soft lights along the pathways cut through the night.
Most of the house seemed asleep.
Which made this the safest moment to open the notebook again.
I flipped the cover s
