Andrew hauled it upward, soil cascading off its surface. The chest thudded onto the grass, scarred and ancient, initials faintly etched into the lid. He staggered back, panting, staring as though it might spring open itself. At last, the silence of decades was about to be broken.
He crouched beside the chest, fingers grazing its corroded clasp. Rust flaked away like ash, staining his hands. The lock resisted, swollen shut with years of damp. Andrew sat back, heart thundering. After days of obsession, he almost feared the truth more than the endless, unanswered questions.