CHAPTER 46 LYRA
LYRA
They started with the vault. As in: a literal, bank-style vault, hidden away in the bowels of Hawthorne House. John Oren let them in, fingerprint scan and all.
“You know how to reach me if you need me.” Oren turned to leave. Everything about Avery’s head of security screamed former military to Lyra—the way he stood, the way he moved, the way he spoke, like the man could discover a bomb and still maintain a neutral expression and tone.
“Oren,” Grayson said to the man’s retreating form. “This is not your fault.”
“It was my job to keep her safe.” Just the facts, ma’am. “It has been my job since the moment I met Avery Kylie Grambs.”
“You can yell at Avery when she gets back,” Grayson said.
In other words: She is coming back. “For now, I would appreciate it if you could take these to Zara.” Grayson held out the ring of keys.
“The story of my grandfather’s life is in these keys.
I need you two to see what portions of that story you can identify, and if my aunt has any insight into where her mother might have hidden something in Hawthorne House, kindly tell her to let us know. ”
After an elongated moment, Oren reached out to take the keys. “I’m not one for yelling,” he said meaningfully, “but I’ll make an exception when Avery gets back.”
When, not if. Grayson watched Oren go. “He and Zara have a history,” Grayson told Lyra.
“Possibly a present, too. They’ll be a comfort to each other.
” With that, Grayson turned his attention to the vault around them.
“In the old man’s will, all of Alice’s jewelry was left to Nan.
It was the only significant bequest that did not go to Avery. ”
“That doesn’t strike me as a coincidence,” Lyra noted.
“With my grandfather, there was no such thing,” Grayson confirmed.
Searching the drawers of the vault one by one proved to be an eye-watering experience for Lyra. There had to be millions of dollars of jewelry in the Hawthorne vault—tens of millions. Necklaces, bracelets, rings. Every gemstone imaginable was represented, large and small, all with perfect clarity.
Lyra did her best not to gawk and paused only when she came to a drawer filled with men’s watches. Her gaze was drawn to one in particular, an incredible piece of workmanship that contained a tiny roulette wheel spinning beneath a glass dome.
“You told me about this watch during the game,” Lyra said quietly.
“It’s funny,” Grayson replied, his voice quiet but steady.
“I don’t want it anymore.” Something in his tone made Lyra think he wasn’t just talking about the watch.
A strange feeling washed over Lyra, warm like the sun, electric like a rippling charge.
Grayson was the type of person who had emotional security suits.
He was wearing one now, but standing there, listening to him, Lyra felt like they were right back at Mile’s End.
And in the back of her mind, she could hear her mom saying, Ask me how long it took for me to know with this gentleman. This gentle man right here.
“Grayson?” Lyra’s voice came out husky. She had no idea why she’d made his name a question or what she was even asking, but suddenly, Grayson was on the move.
“I just realized something,” he called back over his shoulder. “Remembered something. Follow me.”
Lyra followed him out of the vault, down corridors, and up multiple staircases, all the way back to his room, to his nightstand. She watched as Grayson opened the drawer and reached for the ring box inside. It was velvet, a deep, midnight blue.
“This ring belonged to Alice.” Grayson opened the box. “Nan gave it to Nash, but he’d already made a ring for Libby, so Nash gave this one to me. For safekeeping.”
Safekeeping. The word echoed through Lyra’s mind as she took in the sight of Alice’s ring. The jewel was black and shot through with colors so vivid that they called to mind neon lightning frozen in midnight glass. Lyra thought back to a gown she’d worn in the Grandest Game.
Darkest sunset.
“It’s a black opal,” Grayson said, removing the ring from the box, running his thumb lightly over the delicate, diamond-encrusted leaves that surrounded the gemstone.
A black opal, Lyra reminded herself, that belonged to Alice. If this was a Hawthorne game, anything could be a clue—or an object with a hidden use. “Disassemble the box?” she suggested.
His eyes on her, Grayson removed the ring, probing the box, then gently pulling out the velvet lining. And there, on the bottom of the ring box, were three words, embroidered in metallic thread.
LYRA, MY LYRA.