They exchanged glances. The dog’s ears twitched, head still bowed. Owen leaned closer, pushing one last clump of dirt aside. The edge of something flat and brown appeared beneath the animal’s chest. “Wait,” he whispered. “There’s something here.”
He dug with his hands now, pushing the thicker clods aside until the shape took form; a box, soaked and warped on the sides, but its top oddly intact, protected by the dog’s weight. “It’s sitting on it,” Clara said softly. “It’s been lying on this thing the whole time.”