Echoes of the Heart

Chapter 7: Echoes of the Past

Chapter 7: Echoes of the Past

Emma’s Point of View

The library smelled of aged paper and dust, the scent woven into the very fabric of Everdawn House. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting golden patterns across the wooden floors as I unrolled a set of blueprints over the long wooden table. My fingers traced the familiar lines and measurements, but my mind was elsewhere.

Work had always been my sanctuary. Drafting floor plans, inspecting old buildings, envisioning renovations—those things made sense to me. They had order, structure. Unlike the tangled mess of my father’s secrets and the unsettling presence of Callum in the mansion.

Callum.

I had spent most of the day trying to shake off the memory of last night, but it clung to me like a shadow. The way he had looked at me, the way he had moved through Everdawn House—not like a visitor, but like someone who belonged. Like someone with a purpose.

I exhaled, rolling up the blueprints with more force than necessary.

I had come back here to settle my father’s affairs, not to get caught up in whatever Callum was searching for.

And yet, here I was—digging into the past, as if the house itself was pulling me toward something I wasn’t ready to face.

I stepped back from the table and scanned the towering bookshelves. They were filled with estate records, design sketches, and architectural plans spanning decades. My father had been obsessed with Everdawn House’s structure, restoring and expanding it over the years. But there were parts of the house even he never spoke of.

Especially the West Wing.

I swallowed hard.

I hadn’t planned on returning to that part of the house, not after last night. But my father’s final letter still lingered in my mind.

"Be careful where you look. And whatever you do… do not go into the West Wing."

But I had already been there.

And so had Callum.

Something about that place mattered—something my father had gone to great lengths to keep hidden.

I turned back to my blueprints and spread them out again.

If there were secrets buried within this house, I wasn’t going to find them by wandering the halls aimlessly. I needed a plan.

And I knew exactly where to start.

---

I spent the next few hours combing through architectural plans, searching for inconsistencies. My father had kept meticulous records, every renovation carefully documented.

But as I compared the older blueprints to the more recent ones, something caught my attention.

There was a discrepancy in the West Wing.

The original designs showed a hidden space—a small section between two walls that had been sealed off. It wasn’t listed in any of the later plans, as if it had been deliberately erased.

My pulse quickened.

Was this what Callum had been looking for?

I grabbed a notepad and scribbled down the measurements. If this hidden room still existed, it would be behind the large bookshelf near the end of the West Wing corridor.

I had walked right past it last night without realizing.

A chill ran down my spine.

I needed to see it for myself.

---

The mansion was quiet as I made my way down the corridor leading to the West Wing. The high ceilings and dim lighting gave it an eerie stillness, as if time had stopped in this part of the house.

I hesitated when I reached the massive bookshelf.

From the outside, it looked like any other section of the library—a grand display of antique volumes and leather-bound journals. But according to the blueprints, there was something more behind it.

I ran my fingers along the edges of the wood, searching for any sign of movement. The shelves were sturdy, but as I pressed against the lower panel, I felt a slight shift.

It wasn’t just a bookshelf.

It was a door.

My breath caught.

I pressed harder, and with a low creak, the bookshelf moved—just enough to reveal a narrow gap leading into darkness.

My pulse pounded in my ears as I reached for my phone, using its flashlight to illuminate the space. Dust swirled in the air, and the scent of aged wood and forgotten secrets filled my lungs.

Stepping inside, I found a small, hidden study.

A desk covered in old documents. A single chair. And, on the farthest shelf, an empty space where a book had once been.

Callum had been here.

And he had taken something with him.

---

I sat in my father’s old study, a stack of ledgers spread out in front of me. My hands were shaking.

I wasn’t sure if it was from the discovery of the hidden room—or from what I had just found in these records.

One name kept appearing.

Callum.

I traced my finger over the faded ink, barely able to believe what I was seeing.

"Compensation for Callum—arranged as discussed."

"Additional funds allocated for Callum’s needs."

"Agreement between J.S. and Callum to remain undisclosed."

The entries spanned years, hidden among estate finances and maintenance costs. My father had been paying Callum for something.

But for what?

And why had it been kept secret?

A cold realization settled over me.

Callum wasn’t just some stranger who had come to Everdawn House looking for answers.

He had been part of this place for a long time.

---

The grandfather clock chimed midnight.

I hadn’t moved from the desk in hours, my mind spinning with questions.

My father had hidden things from me. He had left behind warnings, cryptic messages—but no clear answers. And Callum was the missing piece.

I needed to confront him.

I needed to know the truth.

Whatever my father had been involved in, whatever Callum was searching for—it all led back to Everdawn House.

And I wasn’t leaving until I uncovered its secrets.