“Why?”
“Because nobody goes there.”
“What proof?”
“Original blasting order.”
“Crane’s handwriting.”
“His seal.”
“Payment ledgers.”
“Letters.”
“Where?”
Voss pointed toward pendant.
“Your father always said Eli Vale was smarter than all of us.”
Amos turned.
“My brother?”
“Eli hid something before collapse.”
“What?”
“A lockbox.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Charles found reference in old diary.”
“Numbers.”
Lavinia took pendant.
18 – 7 – 3.
Voss stared.
“You have them.”
“What do they mean?”
Amos suddenly remembered.
His brother counted supports.
Tunnel frames numbered by distance.
Station 18.
Support row 7.
Third stone on service wall.
“Black Hollow.”
He whispered.
“I know where.”
They left Redstone before dawn.
Voss came.
Amos hated it.
Needed him.
Three riders followed.
Amos saw them ten miles out.
“Crane?”
Lavinia asked.
“His men.”
“What do we do?”
“Reach tunnel.”
“That sounds backward.”
“What?”
“We are being chased and your solution is enter a dead-end tunnel?”
“Yes.”
Lavinia stared.
“I liked you more before kiss.”
“That can be corrected.”
She nearly smiled despite fear.
Black Hollow emerged beneath snow.
Abandoned depot.
Collapsed sheds.
Tunnel entrance half boarded.
Twenty-three years vanished from Amos’s face as he approached.
He stopped fifty yards away.
Could not move.
Lavinia came beside him.
“You don't have to.”
“Yes.”
“You do not owe dead men proof.”
“I owe myself.”
She took his hand.
He looked down.
Then they entered.
The tunnel smelled of wet stone.
Old timber.
Memory.
Amos carried lantern.
Every step brought back voices.
Eli laughing.
Hammers.
Men singing badly.
Crane shouting.
Tapping behind rock.
Three taps.
Pause.
Three taps.
Amos nearly stopped breathing.
Lavinia squeezed his hand.
“Amos.”
“I hear them.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She understood.
Did not ask.
They reached Station 18.
Support row 7.
Third stone.
Amos used pry bar.
Behind stone was cavity.
Inside:
Iron box.
Rusted.
Still locked.
Lavinia’s pendant fit the keyhole.
The crest itself twisted.
Click.
Box opened.
Papers wrapped in waxed canvas.
Ledger.
Letters.
Original order.
And a letter addressed:
AMOS VALE.
His hands shook.
He could not open it.
Lavinia did.
“Do you want me to read?”
Amos nodded.
She unfolded.
Amos,