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L aying the pottery piece down on the table, I type my last notes into the documentation file before turning to grab supplies to safely store the artifact. This job looks glamorous in the movies, but the truth is it’s mostly examining, cataloging, and organizing unless something of note is discovered. So far it’s been bones, pottery, and more bones.

I don’t mind though. Organizing things has always had a calming effect on me. On bad days when I was younger, I would sometimes dump out a puzzle and just spend an hour sorting all the edge pieces, then all the similar colors into piles. Most of the time I didn’t even do the puzzle, but putting order to something made me feel like my life wasn’t spiraling out of control. It helped me disassociate from the constant chaos and conflict in my family.

The routine of cataloging a dig is second nature to me at this point. Receive item. Photograph item. Describe item. Wrap and store item. Next.

I’ve just placed another piece of pottery onto bubble wrap so I can pad it, when Dr. Whitlock and Dr. Slate come in unexpectedly. Instantly, I’m on alert. They never come here unless they need something, much less together.

“Archer, are you busy?” Cora asks kindly.

I make a show of glancing toward the lonely piece of pottery on the table before turning back to her with a raised brow.

“Yeah. Super busy. The busiest, actually.” I deadpan, expecting her to giggle at my joke. Instead she holds out something in my line of sight. All sarcasm is lost when I see it isn’t another goddamn piece of earthenware.

Before I can ask what it is, Roman cuts in. “We need you to prioritize cataloguing this item. We need it back as soon as possible.”

Annoyance filters through me at his demanding tone. He isn’t my boss, we’re colleagues. If I wasn’t just as excited to see a new item as they are, I would be tempted to tell him to kick rocks. It’s Cora who softens the request.

“What Dr. Slate is trying to say is, we found what we think is a puzzle box, and we would really appreciate it if you could catalog this as soon as you can, so we can attempt to open it.” She bats those long lashes at me, and I know I can’t refuse her.

There’s just something about Cora. Even before we met, her research and her mind captivated me. Getting to know her has only made my school-boy infatuation worse. Not that an omega like her will ever want a beta like me romantically. But, I like spending time with her. Like making her happy. I’d be thrilled just to be her friend.

“Come on, let's take a look at it now.”

She beams as I wave them both over to the exam table. Carefully moving the pottery aside to make room, I take the item from Cora and set it down in its place. It’s definitely a box, and upon closer examination I see that what originally looked like a decorative geometric pattern is actually several circular pieces.

A throat clears behind me. “I’ve seen boxes like this before. I think,” Roman pauses to look at the omega before continuing. “Uh, we think it’ll open if we can align the patterns on the top.”

“Have you tried yet?” I ask without taking my eyes off the box.

“No, of course not. You know we have to bring it to you first to document it,” Roman snaps.

“Sure, but most people would bend that rule for something like this. ”

“I don’t break rules.” Roman lifts his chin, and I roll my eyes.

“You have no idea how hard it was not to jump in and try to solve this thing.” Cora completely ignores the grumpy alpha and grins excitedly as she throws her hair up into a messy bun.

I’m pretty sure I know exactly how hard it was. You don’t find something like this on most digs. This could be a once-in-a-life-time discovery.

Instead of dragging out the conversation, I get to work photographing the box from every angle possible, notating where the patterns lie and any dings or blemishes. When I turn it over and look at the bottom, I notice some weird patterns etched into it. “Any idea what these are?”

“No. They don’t look like symbols per se—at least none that I’ve ever seen,” Roman responds. “It could be as simple as damage done when whatever killed these people transpired.”

I don’t think it’s that simple, but with a shrug, I continue my process. When I’m finally done, I gently place my fingertips on the mosaic top and add a little pressure. Nothing. No movement at all. Next I try spinning one of the circles but again, no movement. Cora and Roman move closer, standing on the other side of the table to get a better view. After several more minutes, it’s clear that either these things are stuck, or they aren’t supposed to move at all.

Rolling to stand up straight, I stretch my aching back out with a groan. “It’s getting late. I’ve documented this as much as I can for now. Why don’t you grab something to eat and hit the hay. We can try again tomorrow with fresh eyes.”

Cora bites her plump lower lip, her brows furrowed, until she seems to come to a decision. Setting her shoulders back, she asks, “Can I take this to my tent? I really want to keep looking at it, and I do my best thinking at night.” Before Roman can protest she adds, “Plus, you know the artifact will be safe! They’ve already got me on lock-and-key with my tent right next to Dr. Slate’s and yours, and I’m only two tents down from Bear’s. I’ll even sleep with it under my pillow so no one will be able to get it without waking me up. Please?”

Damn her for batting those eyelashes again. She’s so cute when she’s rambling.

Lips in a tight line, I acquiesce. “Okay, yeah. That’s fine. But if you find anything, come to me immediately.”

What can only be described as a squeal erupts in the tent and suddenly Cora is nearly pressed against me as she lands a quick kiss to my cheek. “Thank you, thank you, thank youuuu.” She sing-songs while she grabs the box and skips out.

I’m left standing stock still, staring after her as she goes, the place where her lips landed tingling with awareness.

“Don’t let that thing out of your sight,” Roman yells after her. But he doesn’t argue that I shouldn’t let her take it, which surprises me. Maybe he’s not as immune to the sweet little omega as he tries to pretend.

“Do you think she can figure it out?” I ask.

“If anyone can, it’s her,” he says so softly I’m not sure he meant for me to hear.