Grey, dreary sunlight drifted into the attic through the circle-shaped window, illuminating the dust as it floated lazily through the air. Eliza dragged the tip of her finger over the top of an old chest of drawers, then grimaced at the feeling of grime on her skin. No one had been up here in years, ever since her father had gotten too old to climb the pull-down stairs. Eliza knew that her older brother had sometimes gone up here to find things for her dad — Christmas ornaments, old photo albums, paperwork. But that was before he moved out of state. Eliza lived an hour away, so they’d never called her to help with something as menial as pulling boxes out of the attic. 

But, much to her dismay, she was in the attic now, nose clogged with dust and the smell of aging paper. Two weeks...

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