Page 66 of Chasing the Sun

“Hey,” I offered softly, to not scare him off.

“Hi.” His eyes flicked up and he swallowed. “I know you’re mad.”

I nodded, not ignoring the fact that, yeah, a part of me wasbigmad. But it was more than that, and Levi deserved to understand the complicated emotions I was feeling.

“I thought we had an understanding, kid,” I said quietly, making sure my voice wasn’t too harsh. “I trusted you.”

Levi’s shoulders curled inward. He kept his eyes down, focused on the burned wood at his feet.

For a long second, he said nothing. Then, finally, he exhaled and forced himself to meet my gaze. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I know I messed up.”

I nodded, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Yeah.”

His throat bobbed. “I didn’t mean to?—”

I stepped forward, wrapping him in an awkward hug, his shovel pressed between us. “I know. We all mess up sometimes.”

Silence stretched between us. Then Levi’s arms wrapped around me, squeezing me back. “I’ll fix it,” he muttered through tears.

For a moment, I simply held him. “You already are.” A lump formed in my throat, making it hard to swallow. I straightened to look at him, trying not to cry. “I’m just so glad you weren’t hurt.”

I squeezed him again, reassuring him that he was stillcared for. After I let him go, I reached for my own shovel, exhaling past my emotions. “Okay, let’s do this. Teamwork makes the dream work.”

From across the barn, I caught Cal staring at us with an unreadable expression. I swallowed hard and tried not to imagine what he was thinking.

A few hours later, just as the worst of the wreckage had been cleared, Stan called out: “Ellie, come take a look at this.”

I wiped the back of my gloved hand across my forehead and walked over, Callum following without a word.

Stan was standing beside a section of the barn floor that had been warped by the fire and water damage. A portion of it had caved in slightly, revealing a dark space beneath.

“What is that?” I asked, kneeling to get a better look.

“I’d venture to guess it’s a root cellar, but I’ve never seen it before.” Stan frowned.

I looked into the hole. “It looks like there might be something in there.”

I glanced at Callum, who shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

We pried up the loose floorboards, revealing a small underground space lined with stone. It was mostly empty, save for a single, battered steamer trunk sitting in the shadows, its leather edges singed, its brass lock rusted.

A strange shiver crawled up my spine. I reached out, running my fingers over the lid. “How long do you think this has been down here?”

Stan whistled low. “Could be a hundred years or more.”

I swallowed, my pulse ticking faster. “Help me get it out.”

It took some maneuvering, but we managed to haul the trunk out onto solid ground. The metal clasps were weakfrom heat exposure, and with a little effort, we pried it open.

Inside, the trunk was filled with old fabric, bits of lace, and a broken pocket watch. But it was the bundle of letters tucked in the corner that caught my attention.

Most were ruined—the ink blurred, the paper falling apart in my hands—but a few were mostly intact.

I lifted one carefully, my breath catching as I read the date at the top:September 3, 1903.

I skimmed the first few lines, my pulse thrumming louder with every word.

My Darling, I cannot stay here any longer. Every day, I wake with the feeling that I am being watched ...