Outside, an owl called in the darkness, its cry echoing across the overgrown gardens. The mansion creaked and settled around him. The sounds of an old house adjusting to new inhabitants. But beneath those normal noises, Ethan thought he heard something else. A faint tapping like someone gently testing the walls.
He moved quietly to the window, peering out into the moonlit grounds. For a moment, he thought he saw a shadow moving among the trees at the edge of the property. Then it was gone, leaving only the silver touched landscape and the distant lights of Riverdale below. Ethan's hand closed around the ornate key in of his pocket. Whatever Thomas Blackwell had hidden in this house, others of our elbow were still searching for it.
And judging by Reed's persistence in the shadow in the garden, they weren't about to give up easily. Sometimes, Ethan said to the empty room, "A man builds something that isn't just meant to last. It's meant to be found by the right person at the right time. " He studied the symbols on the key, tracing their intricate patterns with his finger. The question is, Thomas Blackwell, are you trying to protect this secret, or are you helping the right person find it? The morning sun streamed through the library windows, warming the old hardwood floors as Ethan Brooks awakened in the armchair where he'd fallen asleep.
The brass key still rested in his palm, its weight a reminder of yesterday's discoveries. Outside, the sound of a hammer striking wood echoed across the overgrown grounds. From the window, Ethan spotted Noah in the front yard, his small frame hunched in concentration as he attempted to repair a section of the porch railing with tools from Ethan's collection. The sight warmed him more than the morning sun. Three generations of Brooksmen had built things with their hands.
Four, if he counted Noah. Some talents were simply in the blood. Morning, Dad. " Noah called, looking up from his work as Ethan stepped onto the porch. "I'm fixing this part that was loose. The wood's still good.
Just need some reinforcement. " Um, Ethan examined his son's work, genuinely impressed by the boy's instinctive understanding of structure. "Good job, buddy. You've got a natural eye for this. " "Like you and grandpa? " Noah beamed at the comparison. Exactly like that. Ethan ruffled his son's hair.
Listen, I need to find some work in town if we're going to stay here. How about we get breakfast and I'll ask around? The Riverdale Diner occupied a prime spot on Main Street. Its neon sign and chrome fixtures preserved from the 1950s. Inside, red vinyl booths lined the windows, and a counter with swivel stools ran the length of the space.
The morning crowd was sparse. A few older men reading newspapers, a couple of workers in dusty boots nursing coffee. Conversation paused briefly when they entered, a dozen pairs of eyes assessing the newcomers before returning to their breakfasts. A waitress in her 60s approached with coffee and a friendly smile. You must be the Brooks boys, she said, filling two mugs without asking.
Martha called ahead, said you inherited the old Blackwell place. Word travels fast, Ethan observed. Only thing that does in Riverdale these days, she chuckled. I'm Doris. Been working this counter since before you were born.