Mia M Dre's Arc

Chapter 7 of 13

The hatch swung shut above her with a soft thud, and Mia found herself on a short ladder dropping into cool, lamp-lit air. She climbed down quickly. The vault was smaller than she expected—stone walls, a low ceiling, shelves lined with wrapped bundles. At the center sat a glass case, and inside it, resting on dark cloth, was the comb. Six generations of her family, behind a lock she had not planned for. Upstairs, the driver's laugh cut off. Footsteps started toward the back room. Then the footsteps stopped. A shout came from the street—sharp, annoyed. Mia caught the word "ticket" and the buyer cursing about a warning pole posted at the curb. The driver thumped back the other way, out toward the cart. She had minutes, maybe less. Mia pressed her palms to the glass case. No keyhole on top. She crouched and found the lock underneath—small, brass, delicate. She slid a corked vial from her bag and tapped two drops of the pale oil into the seam. The metal hissed and softened. She twisted. The lid lifted. Mia closed her fingers around the comb, slipped it into her bag, and set the empty case back exactly as it had been. Above her, the hatch creaked. Someone was coming down. Mia ducked behind a tall display along the back wall. Her shoulder brushed cold glass. She turned and froze. Inside a second sealed case sat a row of pieces she knew by heart—a pearl pin her aunt had lost, a coral ring her cousin had been told was traded, a small carved whale her mother kept on a high shelf at home. Mia's breath caught. The comb was only one piece. Boots hit the ladder above. She slipped behind the case and pressed flat to the stone, the comb safe in her bag, her family's stolen history glinting an arm's length away.