“What?” I asked.
She pointed. I looked. My heart stopped. A small black statue of a raven sat at the corner of my desk, its beak pointing toward the door as if watching for intruders.
“The door was locked,” I breathed, walking over to the desk. I reached for the bird.
“Don’t!” ordered Lauren.
But I picked up the statue anyway and flipped it over. The puzzle to open it had already been solved, its familiar phrase staring back at me.
“Nothing further beyond,” I muttered and flipped open the secret compartment.
Nestled in the velvet bedding was a weathered photograph. It was of my mother and father. They were young, in their senior year at Waverly probably. My father had his arm across Natasha’s shoulders, and she wore an oversized Waverly University sweatshirt that I suspected belonged to Anthony. They were all smiles. It was hard to believe that the pair hadn’t ended up together in the end.
“There’s something on the back,” said Lauren.
I flipped the photograph over. Sure enough, in an elegant scrawl that I didn’t recognize, someone had written:
My dearest Nicole. Continue to thrive. Nec plus ultra.
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