Chapter 19 - The Unclaimed Package
It was a quiet Tuesday morning in our new home in the Pacific Northwest. The rain tapped softly against the glass windows as I walked out onto the front porch to grab the mail.
A single small, heavy cardboard box sat on the welcome mat. There was no return address. Just my new name written in neat, painfully familiar cursive ink.
My breath caught in my throat. My hands trembled as I picked up the box, carrying it slowly inside to the kitchen island where Julian was making coffee.
"What's that?" Julian asked, turning around with two mugs in his hands.
May you like
"I don't know," I whispered, staring at the handwriting.
I grabbed a kitchen knife and sliced open the packing tape. Inside, resting on a bed of black velvet, was a single, polished ebony cane handle carved with a crest of a snake swallowing its own tail—and a small, glowing amber glass vial, completely full.
