Gemotions

The silence of the house was a physical weight, pressing down on her. Maya walked from room to room, touching things, rearranging them, just to feel something. The sun, a pale disc in the sky, offered no solace.

A delivery. Another one. The driver set it down, a hurried "Have a good day" before vanishing. This one was addressed to a "Mr. Julian Reed." Not her. She considered leaving it.

But the paper on the box seemed too neat, the tape too perfectly applied. Curiosity, a subtle but insistent itch, urged her to open it. Inside, nestled in layers of bubble wrap, was a collection of antique keys.